


Lily of the Night

by xxarrowwolfxx



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: ACOTAR - Freeform, ACOWAR, Adventure, Angst, F/F, F/M, Feysand child, Humor, M/M, Romance, acomaf, post ACOWAR
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2018-11-29 08:07:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 74,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11436696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxarrowwolfxx/pseuds/xxarrowwolfxx
Summary: I was named after the night lilies that bloomed on the far side of the Sidra.The large pale, cream colored flowers with veins of plum midnight that entwined paths through their velvet soft petals. The same flowers that were said to grant wishes on Starfall. Father always said it was those flowers that gave him me...I never meant to resurrect that bird in the garden that evening and never meant to start the chain of events that nearly lead to the destruction of not only Prythian but the world.Post-Acowar following the life of Feysand's daughter and her journey to find her way home and stop the wrath of the Mother and the Cauldron. Includes numerous OC's and canon characters. Story will follow both the main characters and OC's.





	1. Prologue-Mourning the Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Clearly I don't own the ACOTAR series.
> 
> Hi there everyone! This is a little piece I've been considering working on and wanted to see how it would go. It's been years since I've written so I'm a bit rusty but appreciate any constructive feedback! I hope you enjoy.

I was named after the night lilies that bloomed on the far side of the Sidra. The large pale, cream colored flowers with veins of plum midnight that entwined paths through their velvet soft petals. The palm sized blooms whose aroma mimicked the sweet caress of rain and the sharp tinge of sodden earth.

The same flowers that were said to grant wishes on Starfall—that is, if you were lucky enough to witness one blooming under the light of the traveling spirits that passed through Velaris that night. The lilies were said to only bloom every few hundred years and only on the night the dancing spirits passed.

Father always said it was those flowers that gave him me, that he’d wished on a single bloom he saw open in the glittering light that night and it was precisely a year later that he got me.

The heavenly star gifted to the Court of Dreams. A beacon of hope after the dark night that had encompassed Prythian, the darkness that had stolen so many lives but had carved a path of hope.

Uncle, however, said heavenly was the last word he’d use to describe me, “heathen” and “bossy” were more suited.

In hindsight, I’d be inclined to agree.

Brother had been born before me, the heir to the throne of the Night Court and arguably one of the most powerful beings to grace Pyrthian. It was said that Mother would not be able to bear children after him, after the sheer hell it had been bringing such a powerful being into the world and the fact it had nearly cost her life.

My birth had been nothing short of miraculous in light of it.

My birth had been milder, one might almost venture to have called it peaceful. My power did not rattle to the ends of Pyrthian as my brothers did. I was born with no power that could rival that of my brother or parents, or so they had thought. It was believed that I was just a precious flower given as a gift of peace to the Night Court, a child born in harmony and as a symbol of good fortune.

How wrong they had all been.

It wasn’t long before my power manifested itself and proved to be far more frightening than anything my brother or parents possessed. I hadn’t meant to bring that baby bird back from the dead that evening in the garden, didn’t mean to scare my brother and didn’t mean to reverse the scars on uncle Azriel’s hands when Mother asked me to show her what I had done.

The ability to undo what had been done, the power the resurrect the dead and return time to a state it existed at previously.

I didn’t know how I was able to even do such things, but somehow I could.

It scared the Court of Dreams to say the least as they began scrambling to understand where such power could originate from, to understand just how such power could have manifested. There were whispers and fear, so much fear, of what enemies would do to me, what they would do to obtain my power if they knew what I could do.

Harsh whispers and mention of safety plans, protect her, it was spoken over and over, protect, protect, protect. Hide and protect.

Mother told me everything would be okay, that we would figure out and, above all else, they would protect me at any and all costs.

How wrong she had been.

It was that same night that things changed ten years after my birth. The night the darkness encompassed the Court of Dreams and the shining star they’d all come to love was stolen away in the night. The night the celestial blooms given by the mother to those who had earned her blessing began dying.

The same night that I died.

————-

“PAPA!!!” The young girl cried, large violet eyes brimming with tears and voice cracking as her hands shoved hard against the thick cords of the muscle of the arms, MY arms, pinning her, “Please PAPA!!”

No…

Wind tore at my face and jacket, the powerful wings at my back sending us flying for the coast, the smell of the sea bombarding my senses, the scent of fear entangled with it.

I felt the dark chuckled rip from my throat, the hideous sound that didn’t belong there, the body I had no control over-- as I fought, thrashing against the bonds, the heavy chains blocking me from moving my own body.

I felt my hand dig harshly into her side, hard enough to tear skin, earning a scream of agony from the small child as she thrashed trying to escape and pleading to be released.

The cold air ripped her long black locks away from her face, knotting the silky strands into tangles. Those violet eyes, my eyes, stared up at me, terror and panic reflecting back in the pale light of the moon as she whimpered another plea.

Bargains of never misbehaving again, promises of never instigating fights with her brother, saying she loved me and she what sorry for whatever she had done…

The freezing air bit into my skin painfully, but more painfully into the girls face, which was clearly flushed from the biting cold and the crying. The hoarseness of her voice became more profound.

“I thought you wanted to fly?” I heard my own voice mock the child, my child, as she screamed into the night for her mother, for Cassian, Azriel, anyone.

Stop…..

I screamed and threw myself harder into the walls blocking me, her words tearing my heart down its seams. I was helpless and useless, unable to do anything but watch as the scene of horror unfolded before me.

A blood curdling scream tore from her throat as I felt my hands wrap around the delicate membrane of her wings, the gift of her Illyrian blood, my Illyrian blood-I tore her wings off, blood gushing in every direction, splattering across my face and hers.

It was too much to handle, I’d destroyed it, the beautiful gift from my mate and the Mother herself.

I felt myself drop the child, her body limp having lost consciousness from the pain and trauma from the loss of her wings.

I screamed in agony for anything to stop it, to cease the sin I’d just committed unable to stop myself-

\---————

I shot up in a blind fury, scrambling for anything in the darkness to tether to, but there was nothing.

Celeste, Celeste, Celeste. The name thrummed through me like a drum, nausea reared up to meet me, I felt my stomach tighten, preparing to empty itself on the floor.

Black shadows engulfed the room, so dark and so dense that you could not see even inches in front of you and the house trembled beneath the might of it.

Soft, cool hands were on me instantly, gentle words of comfort were murmured as those hands worked soothing circles on my back.

A dream, not your fault, I’m here. Those words.

Truth to those words, truth except one. It wasn’t alright. Celeste, my daughter, my precious child, stolen in the night right from under our noses.

The same little girl who we had searched for in a blind panic in those critical hours following her capture, the same little girls who’s precious, so small and precious, wings had been found torn from her body near the border of the Day Court, violently and viciously ripped from her small frame---

I lost it, couldn’t contain it. I emptied the contents of my stomach on the floor, tears blindly running down my face.

Heaving I propped myself on my hands, sorrow and blind rage coursing through my system as I realized I hadn’t been able to save her. As I heaved the final contents of my stomach I felt the soft patter of droplets on my back, tears from my mate.

“Feyre,” I gasp, glancing on my shoulder to look at her, to see my mate, to comfort-

“Don’t,” her words were clipped, forced to be calm as she held tightly onto me, “Just don’t. We….there’s….please.”

The last word came out in a broken sob as I felt my High Lady bury her soft face against my back, her thin arms around my back and chest tethering us both.

It’d been almost thirteen years since we had lost Celeste and still the nightmares would not cease.

The nightmares of seeing myself kill my daughter over and over. The pain of losing her hadn’t faded. They had been so sneaky, so quick when they took her. We’d had virtually no time to respond to find her. We’d torn the world apart looking for her, racing against all odds.

Those odds had run out.

We’d been too late.

We’d failed.

No, I’d failed.

So no words came to me as I flipped over and tucked Feyre into my arms, her frame so small and fragile against mine, and held her. Our tears entwined as they fell freely, as we lay prone on the soft carpet of our room, the world too quiet, too serene. We’d never found her body. Just her shredded wings- A sob escaped my chest.

This hell just wouldn’t end.


	2. What Has Become

Dim evening sunlight peered through the glassless windows and scattered across the floor of the gray wooden shack in lazy rays. The golden light glazed over the old splintered wooden benches and rusted metal tools, carelessly strewn about, coating the entire room in a muted golden sheen. A young woman sat just beyond the rays in the shadow, her hands working quickly with pieces of twine before her.

A grunt echoed from a large man sitting against the wall adjacent to her.

“That’s not how ye throw a net you goon,” a reel of rope came flying at the young woman’s head, which she artfully dodged her eyes fixed on the net she had spent an hour straightening and carefully knotting, “Yer never gonna learn girl.” The smile was easily heard in the man’s voice, his yellowed teeth peaking from behind a broad mustache and unkept beard.  
  
The young woman clicked her tongue in response, her nimble fingers pulling and weaving the rope of the net with expertise, she had to get this finished as quickly as possible. “Is there anything else you’d like to add before you leave Adder?” She called from her kneeled position, her silken hair tied in a tight braid that she absentmindedly adjusted and tossed over a shoulder.

A snort.  
  
“That’ll be it for the day.” The large man lifted himself from his seated position, the wet squelch of his boots echoing in the room as he stood, “though I’d suggest yer workin too hard and should git home to check on that sister of yers, but yer foolish head’ll never listen to a wise old man.”  
  
This time a snort from the woman.

“Duly noted.” A dismissal.  Adder shook his head, rolling his large shoulders beneath his faded grey parka.

“Ye know the ole boss isn’t gonna care if ya leave before the sun goes down,” the man stated, his burly arms crossing over his chest, “I’ve been here nearly thirty years and he hasn’t fired me.”

“Miraculously,” The girl replied nonchalantly, her fingers tying up the last of the knots in the net,  _keep it even, keep it tight_ \--“and unfortunately some of us can’t afford to lose the job. There.” Tying the final knot the young woman held up the net to Adder, showing off her handy work.

“Well?” She questioned, her large violet eyes raising and glancing towards the tall old man almost expectantly. Adder had been the one to teach her how to tie a net, he had also been the person to tell her when she was screwing up one.

“Perfect as always Miss Celeste,” Adder replied with a chuckle, his broad mouth breaking out into a smile, “though if ya don’t mind me saying you’d be better suited for a bride with that pretty face of yers.”

Celeste scowled and rolled her eyes before narrowing them towards the man, “Does your idiocy know no bounds?”

A chuckle.

“Guess not,” Adder watched as Celeste rolled up the net with expert hands and stuffed it into a burlap satchel filled with countless other nets, “just figured a pretty young woman such as yerself might want to eventually leave this hell hole of a fisherman’s life.”

“Are you offering me a proposition?” Celeste quipped a small smile tugging at the edge of her lips, her equally soaked boots squishing as she strode across the shed burlap sack in hand, the smell of fish and the sea an onslaught against her nose. The golden rays of the sun had dissipated from the room leaving the old shack feeling hollow.

“Mother above no,” Adder said with a breathy laugh, “Ye know how mad Martha’d be? I’d be dead before the idea even left my head.”  
  
Celeste chuckled in response as she shoved the satchel of nets onto the top shelf of an old rickety cabinet. Running the sleeve of her shirt across her forehead she wiped away the damp condensation from the humid room. Hopping down from her perch she used to reach the high shelf she began rummaging through another bin, one filled with tackle and line. She only had one more net she had to finish before she could be on her way for the evening.  
  
“Your wife is a fool for not disposing of you,” Celeste replied as she dug around in the bin, her voice slightly muffled from inside the container, “She could find herself a nice young merchant man. Easier on the eyes and exponentially easier on the nose.”

A cackle escaped Adder’s lips as he shook head in agreement. “You’re mighty correct about that one.”

“Of course I’m right.” Straightening from the bin Celeste pulled out several long pieces of twine, she inspected their length and strength, “Speaking of your lovely wife,” Celeste drew, making her way back to her position in the corner of the shack twine in hand, “shouldn’t you be headed home? You’ve been stalling leaving for the last hour and a half.”

Adder looked sheepish at that and turned to face the window, the wood around it swollen and warped from years of exposure to the humidity. “Well I was hopin ye’d get out of here at a decent hour there isn’t much sunlight left to work by….” Adder’s voice trailed off his crinkled eyes focused on the distance.  Turning he faced Celeste once more, “How’s that momma of yer’s doing?”  
  
Celeste’s hands paused briefly at the question catching her off guard. Swallowing hard she slowly she went back to work. “She’s…..still here.” Her voice was strained as she answered, her posture going ridged. Why would Adder want to talk about this of all things?

“Martha said she saw ye and Miss Anelisse headed to the apothecary few nights ago,” Adder ran an idle hand through his grey beard, “lady drives a mighty hard bargain since she’s the closest thing we’ve got to a healer for a hundred miles.”

“She needed the medicine,” Celeste murmured, her voice having gone soft, “what choice do we have but to the pay the price.”

“You’ve got none,” Adder replied, watching the girl work with soft eyes, her hands moving slower this time, “that lady doesn’t deserve either of ye girls.”

“Mind your business,” Celeste replied sharply as she quickly readjusted her braid again her eyes shooting daggers at the old man, “we do what we have to do.” His hands rose in surrender.

Walking towards Celeste Adder looked down at the young woman as she worked, her thin bony frame evident beneath the tattered white shirt and black pants she wore, her spine peeking through. How long had it been since she’d eaten adequately? Everyone at the fisherman’s reef took home fish in the evening, enough to feed two people if you stretched it but not three and Adder knew full well who got most of that food.

“Yer gonna turn into dust one of these days if ye don’t put some meat on those bones,” rummaging in his pocket Adder pulled out a small leather satchel, “here ya goon, a present from me’n Martha.”

Celeste looked up confusion on her face as she took in the kind old man she worked with dangling a leather satchel above her head.

“What’s that?” Celeste asked suspiciously as the old man shoved the satchel into her hands and folded them around it.  
  
“A gift.”  
  
Uncertainty filled Celeste as she carefully opened up the pouch and felt her jaw slacken, “Adder,” she said almost breathlessly, “I will not—“

“Yes, ye will,” Adder said, shoving the satchel back at the young woman, “You and yer kind are barely hanging on and yer the only one floating yer bunch. Take it and don’t argue girl, you wouldn’t wanna piss off Martha.”

Resilience flashed across Celeste’s eyes, she knew how desperately they needed the money but to take it from Adder-“But your trip to the main land-“

“Can wait,” Adder replied, “It won’t take long to rebuild it up again, Martha will get to see her fields of flowers.” It was decided. Celeste felt her shoulders slacken, even for all of her hard work it never seemed to be enough. She hated handouts and favors.

“Don’t go lookin so sad ye goon,” Adder said, his hand patting the young woman on the head, “The ole boss man doesn’t pay ye near what he pays the rest of us. Ye work harder than the lot of us combined. So take that there and go get yerself some food and new boots,” A glance towards the old worn leather boots, too small and fraying at the edges, “and for the life of ye don’t tell that momma of yers.”

“Thank you, Adder,” Celeste bowed her head in thanks before pocketing the money, with that she’d be able to get Anelisse a new pair of boots as well, “Someday I will pay you back every copper you and Martha have given us.”

“I know girl,” Adder smiled at the girl before stretching his arms above his head, “but until then take care of yerself,” Adder finally turned to exit the old shack, his accented voice calling back to her “You want me to walk you home?”

“No,” Celeste replied, her hands having dropped the twine, she could finish the net in the morning, “I can manage myself. Thank you.”

Another snort. “Stubborn girl,” Adder pulled at the old wooden door, its hinges creaking and groaning, as he tugged it free from its swollen frame, “make sure ye stop by some time and see Martha, she’s been askin about you--also girl, yer ears are showin.”  With that Adder stepped out onto the pier that the shack sat on and disappeared into the noisy array of gulls.

Celeste lifted a finger to find that her delicately pointed ears were indeed poking out of her carefully braided hair. Cursing she readjusted her braid once more, mindfully concealing the heritage she fought daily to conceal from the wary fisherman.

It had been that way for the last thirteen years carefully hiding what she so clearly was.

Not that it did her much good.

Straightening her frame she rubbed at her sore spine, she’d been kneeling nearly all day working on the nets. The waters had been too rough that morning to go out and catch so they’d been holed up in the wretched shack waiting on the cursed storm to stop raging. They’d been having to go out farther and farther to be able to find fish, so on stormy days like this it wasn’t feasible to leave the dock lest risking the entire crew.

Hanging up her hooking tools Celeste scooped up her old worn pack and grabbed the two meager pieces of bread and small chunk of cheese one of the other fishermen had left from his lunch saying it was nothing but gull food. Celeste felt that familiar cramping hollowness in her stomach; for her, it was to be dinner.

Shoving open the old wooden door Adder had disappeared through Celeste was met with the salty scent of the ocean, the powerful stormy breeze dancing across its surface billowing her hair. Turning she pulled the old warped door shut.

 _Some good this lock does_ , Celeste mused as she clamped the old rusted thing shut, it’s pin barely holding it together. She turned and faced the ocean, the grey sky painted in storm clouds and the sound of thunder clashing in the distance, strange for the season.

Making her way up the pier she began the long trek back to the other shack she had come to know as home. The home that had become her own when she’d washed up on the shores of this desolate coastal town, Vanica, all those years ago lost, injured and confused. Everyone had adamantly avoided her, her fae heritage evident with her ears, an ominous sign in a village full of isolated humans.

She’d be fortunate that Anidre, a former Child of the Blessed, had found her and taken her in, agreed to raise her alongside her own child, otherwise she knew she’d have been left for dead.

Walking down the old cobblestone road, Celeste kept her eyes forward watching the local children scuttle home for the evening, their voices echoing with laughter in the streets. A pang strummed through her chest that she ignored as a bright-eyed girl ran up to her and waved her greeting. Marrien, Celeste remembered as the girl quickly shot past her giggling and a young boy, James, came chasing after her laughing. Siblings.

Celeste smiled and waved slightly at the two, knowing full well their mother would be angry if they dallied and stopped to talk to the local fae resident. It’d happened before, and Celeste had no desire to see the children punished like that again.

The main street of the town was lined with old wooden buildings whose once vibrant paint was chipping and faded from the relentless sun and the strong winds of the ocean beating against it. She watched as the shop keepers closed for the evening, some sending her small smiles but most just glaring, making small signals with their hands to ward against her.

She bowed her head respectively towards those acknowledging and mindfully ignored the rest. 

It was well known that many humans still weren’t fond of the fae, especially in small secluded towns were few ever came and even fewer left.

Making her way past the main street she hiked mindlessly into the rural area of the island, the buildings fading into foliage, and thought of the things she would finally be able to buy with the money Adder had given her. Anelisse needed a new dress and boots, wearing ones that were clearly too small for her adult frame.

 She also thought of the small paint set sitting in the window of the quaint art shop, something that Anelisse had been eyeballing for the better part of the last few months. Paints were something that Anelisse hadn’t had the luxury of having in years, ever since the money had ran out and they’d been left in total poverty.

To say they were poor was an understatement. Anidre’s husband had died a few years before Celeste had shown up on the island and had left Anidre, a dreamer with a vague mind, to raise a little girl on her own and with no means to provide for her other than the small savings that had been left for her in her husband’s passing. 

When she had taken Celeste in there had barely been enough food to go around and the savings was dwindling. When the money and food finally ran out Celeste decided to take it upon herself to help, so she learned to fish. At first her catches were few and far between but then Adder saw her one day trying to cast a line and decided to help her, coming out in the evenings to show her the tricks of the trade.

Before long she had found herself working at the fisherman’s quarters gutting fish for coppers a day thanks to a certain old man’s insistence. When she’d gotten older and they realized how strong she was, and how fast she could move and tie knots she was finally permitted to join the rest of the men on the ocean front fishing, for the same pay she’d always had.

A few measly coppers a day.

It was better than nothing and beat out scraping the guts out of fish before they were sent to the market.

Surmounting the hill, she soon found herself in front of her home, smoke billowingly lazily from the chimney and the soft feminine humming echoing from inside.  
  
Anelisse.  
  
Celeste reach forward and opened the door with intentional loudness alerting her younger sister inside. Her preternatural silence had always been unnerving to Anelisse so she had learned to make a point of letting her sister know where she was.

Stepping inside she was met with sight of the said beautiful blonde sitting in front of the fire, her hands working quickly as she repaired one of the old shredded curtains, her long fingers moving swiftly and smoothly.

“Welcome home,” Anelisse called sweetly, her beautiful heart shaped face lifting to face Celeste, silvery eyes glinting in the fire and thin pink lips spreading into a relieved smile, “I’m glad to see you’re okay, I was worried about you on the ocean with this weather.”  
  
“We didn’t go out,” Celeste replied, her voice a softer alto compared to Anelisse’s sweet soprano, “the water was too treacherous with storm raging on the coast, I made nets all day.”  

Anelisse stood, setting her sewing aside and straightened her old ragged dress as she rose from the old rocking chair.

“Come sit, I will get you some water,” Anelisse quickly scuttled for the makeshift kitchen, ignoring Celeste’s pleas to sit down. Celeste watched as her sister fetched one of the broken porcelain cups from the kitchen, humming all the while, her lithe feet seemingly dancing across the dirt floors.

Celeste shook her head and kneeled next to the fire, shoving her cold hands near the flames absorbing the heat that she could from it.

“Here,” Anelisse offered the cup to her sister upon her return, “You should drink.” Anelisse plopped down next to Celeste and propped her head in her hands watching her sister.

Celeste drank the cool water quickly, not realizing her thirst until the water hit her parched throat. Setting the old porcelain cup aside she pulled her pack from her back and began rummaging around for the bread and cheese. Pulling the bread out she watched her sister’s eyes light up as she handed the larger chunk over to her.

“Thank you,” Anelisse said as she took the bread, carefully concealing her obvious hunger, “No fish for today I assume?”  
  
“No,” Celeste said looking towards the side, guilt wrenching her gut, the fish had moved away from the coast in recent years and it was no longer possible to go out and just cast a line any longer, “we should have some tomorrow.”

“It’s okay,” Anelisse reassured as she bit into the bread, eating slowly, “how was your day?” This was the routine, Celeste would return from the fisherman’s wharf to be greeted by her sister and asked about how her day was, prodding for any details she could get and trying to make light of even the most mundane tasks.

On good nights Anidre would join them sitting in the old rocking chair listening as her children prattled on.

“Droll,” Celeste replied, valiantly ignoring the piece of bread and cheese still sitting in her pack as her stomach turned over on itself, “How is she?”  
  
Anelisse stopped her chewing briefly before swallowing, “She hasn’t woken much today, it’s only been murmuring. I was able to give her some fish broth left from yesterday but otherwise nothing.” Anelisse looked sadly towards the dirt floor, “I do not know what to do.”

Celeste offered a hand out towards her sister, a sign of comfort and understanding. Anelisse took the outstretched hand and held it tightly, her other hand shoving bread into her mouth.

“You should eat,” Anelisse said from behind a mouthful of bread, “Momma won’t be eating that tonight and you need it more.” She looked guilty at the remaining bread in her hand, Celeste squeezed her hand diverting her attention.  
  
“Don’t you start feeling guilty,” Celeste said nodding her head towards the bread, “eat.” Anelisse slowly nodded.

Anelisse had always come first, that was the unspoken rule Celeste had set for herself, Anelisse then Anidre and if any remained she would take it. Rummaging in the pack Celeste handed the cheese to Anelisse before rising from her seated position.

“Where are you going?” Anelisse asked watching Celeste move towards the small separate room at the back with sad eyes, the answer self-evident.

“To check on Anidre.”

Opening the door on silent hinges Celeste walked into the dusty room, the same old wooden decorations nailed carefully into the wall, a room that had once been the sanctuary of a very happy family. A small broken bed sat in the center of the room, it’s brass frame curved in the shape of vines and rusted. It was occupied by a small unmoving lump. 

Walking towards the center of the room Celeste lowered herself gently onto the small mattress, the old soil colored quilt wrapped tightly around the small lump of a woman.  
  
With gentle hands Celeste pushed the peppered hair away from the woman’s sweat drenched, fever clearly racking her body.  
  
“Semour?” The woman called hoarsely, her glazed eyes darting back and forth, searching, “Love is that you?” Celeste took Anidre’s hand and squeezed gently, her heart aching as she watched the woman who had shown her kindness call out for her lost love.

“No Anidre,” Celeste replied, rubbing soothing circles on her hand, something that had been done for her once long ago when she was unwell, “it’s just me. It’s just Celeste.” The woman’s clouded amber eyes cleared momentarily as she took in the young woman sitting with her.

“Celeste.” Anidre said with a smile, her wrinkled hand coming up to cup Celeste’s face, the warm hand pressing against her cold cheek, the same hand that had held her fevered face that night all those years ago when she’d been brought back to this house soaking wet and barely alive.

The same night she had thrown away all ties to the fae realm and swore she would never return, no matter the cost.

“My beautiful fae child, my gift from the Mother for my diligence to the fae lords,” Celeste felt herself cringe internally as she watched Anidre’s mind real back to her once ridiculous worship of the high fae, _high monsters is more like it_ she thought ruefully to herself, “do you hear the music? The immortal fae ringing,” A soft, breathless giggle from the woman “how blessed I was to have gotten you my child.”

“Yes Anidre I’m here,” She rested her hand over Anidre’s, “Are you thirsty? Hungry?” She felt her stomach tie in a knot but forced it down willing it to cease its complaining, “what can I do?”

The woman paused staring blankly off into the distance before she leaned her head back against the pillow, her eyes suddenly glazing again, “Semour? Love?”

“No Anidre,” Celeste whispered, “it is still just me.” The woman’s hand slackened.  
  
Celeste gently pulled Anidre’s hand from her face and laid it across the woman’s stomach who had abruptly fallen back into a deep sleep.

This illness, seemingly unknown to anyone, had taken Anidre in its clutches nearly a year ago and her condition had only declined, worsening with each passing day and no tonic or herb had seemed able to break the clutches of the strange sickness.

Tucking the covers around Anidre once more Celeste stood from the bed and crept silently back into the main room, the sun now having fully set and the fire the only light in the room.

“Well?” Anelisse questioned, her eyes watching the fire, “anything?”  
  
“She spoke of your father,” Celeste replied, noting that her sister had eaten only half of the chunk of cheese she had given her, “then fell back to sleep.” Anelisse nodded her head gravely, tucking her knees up under her chest and staring blankly into the fire.

Lowering herself back onto the floor Celeste pulled the bread from her bag and began eating it, the cramping in her stomach easing. Anelisse quietly handed the other half of the cheese to Celeste before curling herself next to her adopted sister.

“You’re going with me to the market tomorrow,” Celeste said as she stared into the fire eating her bread slowly, the wind tearing at the broken shutters, “we’re going to buy you some new boots and that set of paints you’ve been eyeballing.”  
  
She felt Anelisse shift, her silver eyes focusing on her, “what do you mean?” Her brow furrowed in confusion.  
  
“Adder and Martha gave me money,” Celeste said quietly, her eyes trailing towards the satchel of silver and copper hidden carefully in her bag, “He refused to take it back so we best make use of it while we have it.”

“Truly?” Anelisse said, her eyes unexpectedly sparkling for once, “you mean there’s enough to get paint?” Celeste nodded her head, she knew the money should be saved but for Anelisse she’d be willing to risk spending the few extra coppers, she needed the happiness, now more than ever.  
  
Celeste could hear the smile in Anelisse’s voice as she spoke to herself, “I’m going to get to paint tomorrow,” Nuzzling down Anelisse once against propped herself against her sisters side, “You’ve always taken such good care of Momma and I, I do not know what we would have done without you Celeste.”

Celeste felt a pang rattle through her chest at those words. She opened her mouth to refute the claim of her sister but noticed Anelisse had already slipped into a deep slumber, her long fingers curled into Celeste’s shirt.  
  
That night Celeste dreamt of beautiful paintings and of a beautiful woman with golden hair.


	3. A Day in the Market

“It seems like the storm front hasn’t passed,” Anelisse mused, the old shawl wrapped around her shoulders billowing in the turbulent winds, their whistle an eerie call through the salt drenched cliffs, “I wonder how long it will remain in the Bay for.”  
  
“Who knows,” Celeste replied, her eyes cast skyward as she watched gulls circle to and fro, clearly unsettled by the weather, “means the fishermen will be out of work until it passes though.” A feeling of dread settled over her, knowing that each day without work were days where they would be without food. If it hadn’t been for the money Adder gave her Celeste wasn’t certain what would have happened.

“Atleast you get the day off.” Anelisse reassured, always looking for the light side to Celeste’s dark. She lazily twirled a strand of her ashen hair around her finger, “We can spend some time together for once. Consider it a sign of good fortune.”  
  
Celeste smiled in response, she hadn’t had much time with her sister since she’d taken to going out to sea with the fishermen, just their nightly conversations over their meager meals before they slept. This had been the first time in nearly a year that the two had ventured to town together, had really ventured anywhere together. Yes, maybe this storm was good fortune.

Celeste and her sister made their way down the old path towards town, the weight of the copper in her pockets welcoming, especially since it seemed she was to be out of work until the storm passed. Passing the old fork in the road they came to the edge of town, the point where the grass and dirt changed to pressed cobblestones, the sounds of the market quiet for once due to the weather.

Passing by the baker Celeste’s nose was onslaught with the smell of fresh baked bread and pastries, a memory tinkling at the back of her mind of a place she had long since forgotten. Anelisse let out a groan of longing, her lips pressed together in a tight line.

“It’s been years since I’ve had fruit pastries,” she muused, her eyes glistening with memories as she glanced over the pastries propped in the windows, “when father was here we would go every evening to the baker and share one. Apple, peach and cherry in the summer.” A brief glimmer of happiness crossed her face, “We’d walk the shore after, Father and Mother swinging me between them as the waves danced along the shore.”

“I imagine it was wonderful,” Celeste supplied watching the happiness fade from her sister’s eye, reality reeling itself back into place, “it will be wonderful like that again someday, I’m certain.” When that day was coming she wasn’t sure but for Anelisse she’d be willing to look forward to such a day.

“Yes it will,” Anelisse’s voice chimed as she pulled the old faded umber shawl about her shoulders, her worn cream colored dress less than a barrier against the chilling wind, “we’ll have pastries every evening one day AND we wouldn’t have to share.” A tinkling laugh.

“I’d be frightened to share a pastry with you,” Celeste drew dryly, her eyes glancing over her sister and a smirk tugging at her lips, “I’d be fearful of my life to even try to take one from you. Who knows you might even eat me with that appetite of yours.”  
  
“That’s not true!” Anelisse shot back, her cheeks flushing red, “I have a lady like appetite mind you. Sweets just….seduce me.”  
  
Celeste snorted, an amused sound. “Did you just describe the pastry as seducing to you?” A grin broke across her face as she faced her sister, who was still clearly flushed, and crossed her arms over her chest, “I wasn’t aware you were into that sort of…..sexual endeavor. Lady like indeed.”  
  
“Celeste!” Anelisse growled, her face now several shades darker than it had been moments before as she glanced around checking for listening ears, “that’s not appropriate! You shouldn’t refer to…such things so casually.”  
  
“Don’t worry,” Celeste waved her hand nonchalantly, her fingers coming up to her lips and making a zipping motion, “my lips are sealed. I swear I won’t tell Anidre of her daughter’s deepest darkest desires.”

“You’re foul,” Anelisse hissed, swatting her sister across the shoulder, “you must of been raised by a flock of brutish men if your feminine mind is filled with such ridiculous thoughts.” Anelisse regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth, Celeste flinching ever so slightly at the mention of her past.

“Celeste,” Anelisse said, realizing her mistake, it was the one thing that they never talked about- “I didn’t mean to…I..”

“It’s fine,” Celeste responded coolly, her face once again set in a wide grin, her previous discomfort hidden cleverly beneath it, “and some lady you must be to walk about in your knickers all the time.” A distraction, anything to get away from the subject of…..that.

“I do not strut about in my knickers!” Anelisse yelled stomping her boot in annoyance, catching the attention of others in the market, their concerned glances shifting to the two girls outside the bakery, “If either of us prefer a state of undress it’s you!”

“And?” Celeste cocked her head, a devilish grin on her face, “I’m perfectly accepting of that, you, however, have not come to terms with the wildness that lurks inside. A sexual vixen only waiting to be unleashed, untamed and ready for ravishing-” 

“You’re spouting nonsense-“ Anelisse blurted, her hand waving wildly at Celeste, trying to clamp shut the mouth that would not cease it’s spewing but was interrupted as a young handsome man with dirty blonde hair approached the girls, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement.  
  
“What was this about a sexual vixen?” The man asked, his voice thick with the accent that all of the people in Vanica had, his hand idly scratched his scruff covered chin. Celeste’s shoulders suddenly went ridged the playful aura about her shifting to one of lethal intent. The amusement left her face immediately as she drug her eyes from her sister to the intruder on her left. “Why Celeste wouldn’t be referring to you Miss Anelisse would she?”

A look of horror passed over Anelisse’s face as she slowly turned to face the man, the planes of his handsome face lifted in an amused grin. The blush deepened, something that would have seemed entirely impossible.

“No Lukas,” Celeste’s features were set in a cool wall of stone but her eyes were icey as she shot daggers at the man, “I was referring to the bitch in heat in the alley so desperately calling your name. Why don’t you tend to her.”

“Celeste,” Anelisse reprimanded, her arms suddenly wrapped across her chest and beneath her shaw, attempting to hide herself as best as possible, “There is no need to be rude.” _Oh, there’s plenty reason to be rude_ Celeste thought as she wedged her way between the man and her sister, _enough to throw his sorry ass off a cliff._

“Your sister speaks the truth,” Lukas supplied, running a hand through his golden hair, “I was only wanting to join in on the teasing. It has been ages since I’ve seen either of you in town.” His attention directed towards Anelisse, his eyes taking on an almost feral sheen, “Especially you Miss Anelisse, you look as lovely as ever.” Taking her hand, he gently pressed a kiss to the back of it, his lips lingering.

“T-Thank you Lukas,” Anelisse replied, the flush in her face now for an entirely different reason, “I’m glad to see you are doing good as well.”

“Always,” he replied, his voice a sultry baritone purr, “especially now that my Father has struck up trading agreements with several merchants on the mainland, the hardships that this island knows should soon cease.”

Celeste snorted, loudly and rudely. “Maybe if you’d share some of that wealth your father has then that would actually be the case.” Lukas turned to Celeste, looking down his nose at her as though she were vermin.  
  
“The wealth of my family will always be shared amongst my people, human people that is.”  
A brilliant cruel smile broke across his face, “and that wealth would be extended to all those who need it amongst my people,” a glance towards Anelisse his eyes burning with molten desire, “all they need do is ask.”  
  
“We don’t need your handouts Lukas,” Anelisse spoke quietly but firmly from behind her sister, her silver eyes hard and mouth set in a tight line, “now please go about your business so we may tend to our own as well.”

A breathless laugh. “Of course Miss Anelisse, I did not mean to offend,” A bow followed with a flourish of his hand, Celeste contemplated kicking in his knee caps, before he straightened his form. “Please enjoy the market on this fine day,” he made to walk to Anelisse but Celeste wedged herself further, “and, Miss Anelisse, please do not forget my proposition.”  
  
“She’s already told you no,” Celeste growled, shoulders backing as she evaluated his stance, calculating just how much effort it’d be to deal with the fallout of ripping his throat from his neck and ceasing his endless blabbering, “so move your ass before I move it for you.”

“It wouldn’t be difficult for you would it,” Lukas drew, his eye fixating on Celeste as he shifted his neck, three long haunting scars showing from beneath his collar, “how easy it would be for you to kill all of us on this island really, with that strength and agility of yours. Killer’s born in beautiful bodies that’s all the fae are,” his smile grew wicked, “even amongst their own kind it would seem if those scars on your back are any indication-“

Celeste saw red, her body tight ready to strike, consequences be damned-

“Enough of you,” Anelisse’s voice had gone dark, it’s previous waver gone as she shoved herself between the man and Celeste, her shoulders backed and head high, a queen amongst mortals, “Be off before I personally see to it.” Without so much as a glance towards him Anelisse hooked her arms through Celeste’s and pulled her away, directing their attention towards the tailor further down the road.

He did not pursue.

The blood was pounding in Celeste’s ears, rage wracking her whole being as she seethed quietly through her teeth. Killing him would be _so_ easy, _so incredibly simple_ -

“Forget him,” Anelisse commanded her sister, the previous confidence still sent on her features, “He is not worth the consequences of ripping him limb from limb. He is all bark and no bite, he knows he can’t win against you and instead provokes you with words. Cool your temper.”

Celeste heaved one heavy sigh from her chest, shoving the anger down and sealing it beneath the surface. She would have her chance to deal with Lukas Pennington, royal fool of Vanica, one day. He had been a nuisance in her life since the incident on the cliffs so many years ago and had taken it upon himself to harass her by any means necessary including directing his attentions and affections towards the one thing that meant everything to Celeste.

Stepping inside the tailor’s shop Celeste was encompassed in a well-tended wooden paneled room, the smell of leather oils prominent. A small counter sat at the back of the room in front of a door that lead to the work room in the back and across the walls hung rolls and rolls of fabrics, ranging from subtle greens to rich hues of red and purple to the palest creamiest beiges. Celeste remembered the first time she had been to this place was the day after she’d woken up the first time on this island and Anidre had brought her here to be fitted for a new set of clothes.

Behind the counter sat a middle-aged woman with brown hair and brown eyes, her thin brows narrowed in concentration with the fabric in her hands, clearly concentrating on the details of her stitching.

“Pennelope,” Anelisse greeted, startling the woman from her work and causing her to drop her needle in surprise, her hands flailing. Anelisse winced, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you.”  
  
The woman looked up from behind the counter, her face breaking into a wide smile. “It is good to see you girls, come in come in!” Stepping from behind the counter she made her way towards the two woman her round face lit up with pleasure, “It has been too long since I’ve seen either of you! My goodness how you’ve both grown.” She looked over both of the girls, her brow furrowing.

“You’re still wearing those clothes I made for you two years ago,” she clicked her tongue in annoyance, “I told you to come to me when they started to wear out and I would make new ones for you.”  
  
“We could never ask that of you Pen,” Celeste said as the woman scrutinized her old white shirt, holes having formed in the shoulders and the waist, “we haven’t had the money to pay-“

“Hush,” the round woman said, waving her hands rapidly, “this is nonsense, I should have known you two would be wearing rags before asking for any help.” Her accent was unlike the rest of the occupants of Vanica, a slow draw clearly derived from the country fields in which she had been raised, “Come along let’s get you measured so I can get you two dressed in something that’s not literally falling to bits off of you!”

The girls glanced at one another, small smiles tugging at the corners of their lips. For all the ignorant cruel people that inhabited this tiny town there were a handful of very kind individuals who tried to look out for them. Individuals who had watched the girls grow with nothing but each other for help and warmth. Pennelope being one of those individuals.

She had come from a wealthy farm family on the main island with a rich dowry, had fallen in love with a simple cobbler and had married him, against her parents’ wishes, and settled in the small town of Vanica. They made a decent living catering to the fishermen and their families on the coast but had an expansive savings that allowed them to be generous in their dealings.

“Anelisse,” Pennelope chastised, “You’re dress is tight in the hips and chest, you’ve clearly grown since last I fit you, you shouldn’t be flouncing about in something so skin tight, especially with these foolish young sailors flitting about.” A blush crossed her cheeks as she murmured her feeble apologies.

“And you,” Pennelope said, pointing an accusing finger at Celeste, “you’ve been out in the sea water in the same pair of pants and shirt for the last year,” She tugged at Celeste’s shirt, promptly ripping it wide open causing Celeste’s eyes to flair open, “the fabric may be strong but it’s not made to hold up against that much wear and tear without ripping!” A gentle smack was placed against the back of Celeste’s head, “Stubborn prideful girl.”

Throwing the piece of fabric she had ripped from Celeste’s shirt aside she ushered the fae woman into the back work room, manuerving around spools and blocks of fabric. Rounding a corner Celeste came face to face with a mirror.

“Stay here,” Pennelope said and began muttering to herself, “now where did I put that measuring tape?” She mozied away, intent on finding her missing tool. Celeste however paid no attention as she looked at herself in the mirror for the first time in years. She was slightly taken about by the woman who gazed back.

Her long-tapered heart shaped face had gained more structure, no longer holding the soft childish curve it had only a few years before, and her eyes, violet and ever striking, were still as large and almond shaped as they had ever been, her arched brows sitting delicately above them. Her thick lips, diveted with a delicate cupids bow, sat down turned as she glanced over her body, thinner and taller now than before, her ribs poking out slightly.

“I’ll never understand how you’re so beautiful,” Anelisse muused from behind Celeste, her hands holding onto her shawl as she looked at her sister in the mirror, “it’s kind of cruel really to be the sister of such a beautiful creature,” a phony dramatic sigh from upturned lips, “I’ll never find a husband with you to compete with.”

“Don’t worry,” Celeste replied glancing over her shoulder, pink tinging her cheeks slightly, how many years had it been since she’d been called beautiful? Had been praised for her physical attractiveness? Those thoughts of vanity had faded when she’d woken up on that beach so long ago, “You can have all of them. I’d settle for a library full of books and a means to hear music.”  
  
“Mm books how lovely they must be,” A pause and a finger tapping lightly on her chin, Anelisse’s heard slightly cocked to the right, “But AH! Alas, I am illiterate so I will have to settle for the wooing of men to keep me entertained,” she pressed a hand to her forehead, feigning weakness, “however will I survive.”

“Oh I’m sure a pair of broad shoulders could help you keep your strength,” Celeste joked a single brow rising, “but I thought you weren’t interested in the pursuits of men? What happened to that long-sought dream of being a healer?”

“Oh yes yes I’ll get to that,” Anelisse said, “but until I learn to read or find someone to teach me the healing arts I won’t be much use on that front.”

“You just need practice,” Celeste reminded her sister, having spent the first few years of their time together teaching her to trace letters in the sands, “You know the letters shapes and the sounds you just need material to read and write, you’ll pick it up quickly.”

“I suppose so,” Anelisse mused her eyes trailing over her sisters exposed back, her eyes stopping on two festered and tapered scars that ran alongside her shoulder blades to the middle of her back.

“I always wondered how you survived that,” Anelisse whispered, her eyes glazing over as she took in the site of the anger red marks that stretched down her sister’s shoulders, “They’ve always looked so painful.” Celeste paused for a moment, her mind unwilling to acknowledge the memory that so often haunted her dreams.

“I do not know.” Celeste replied, unwilling to even use the mirror to glance at the brandings on her back, the brandings that had marked her an outcast from her people. Those marks served as a reminder to her that she was never to return to the place she had once called home.

A pregnant silence followed.

“I found it! I found it!” Pennelope broke the silence as she came bounding into the room, waving a measuring tape above her head, “now we can get started.”  
  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Several hours later the girls were making the ascent back to their home, wearing new temporary clothes until Pennelope could make their new ones. She had also taken the time to measure their feet so that boots could be crafted for them both when her husband returned from his trip on the mainland. In true Pennelope fashion she had refused the money that Celeste had offered her and had shooed the girls out of her shop saying she had a wedding dress to finish for Emily Lingard, the stitching she had been working on before they’d interrupted, before she could get to work on their clothes.

Having acquired everything, they needed from the tailor and cobbler and having spent none of the copper Celeste had insisted on taking Anelisse to get her paints, allowing her to buy the small set of primary colors in the window alongside a container of white and black paint and some paper before heading to the market and buying dinner, bread, cheese and slice of beef steak, before stopping off at the bakers.  
  
Celeste knew they shouldn’t have spent the extra bit of money but seeing Anelisse bite into the apricot pastry had made the purchase well worth it. They had split the pastry and ate it on their walk home, talking and laughing about the antics of the locals and which sailors they fancied over the sailors they did not. By the time they reach the house they had laughed themselves hoarse.

Opening the creaky door Celeste made her way inside, intent on prepping the food for dinner and starting the fire when she was met with an unexpected site. Sitting in the chair wrapped in a wool blanket was Anidre.


	4. Remembering the Lost

_Momma?” the young girl inquired, her tiny gloved hand sitting inside my own, black hair braided half up, tight ringlet’s falling down her cloaked shoulders, and pink cheeks bright from the cold, “Why is Papa such an idiot?”_

_I almost snorted. Almost._

_“Celeste why do you say your father is dumb?” I inquired, hiding the amusement in my voice as I helped her over a slippery patch of ice, her boot clad feet sliding on the thin sheet as we made our way down the ice coated cobblestone street._

_“Because he’s always saying things that make Amren mad,” her petite face scrunched in thought, her freckled button nose wrinkling, “Not to mention he’s always saying ridiculous things to Cenric and I. Surely Papa knows the ocean isn’t made of pudding!”_

_I couldn’t resist the grin that spread across my face, eternally amused by my daughter’s rantings about Rhys, my mate and her father. A loud sigh of exasperation left her lips as she dramatically threw her head back, irritation written across her features._

_It was most definitely a mystery whom she had gotten the flair for the dramatic from._

_“Am I the only intelligent one?” She inquired to the muted grey sky, violet eyes twinkling in the street light beneath thick dark lashes. Her fingers curled tightly in my hand, a look of total annoyance on her face, “Other than you of course Momma, you’re the smartest of us all. Second only to me.”_

_Or that confidence._

_Turning the corner of the brick building I began leading the small girl towards the line of shops near the Sidra.  Yellow lantern light illuminated the snow-covered ground as fae strolled about enjoying the rare winter storm, their breath making clouds in the cold. Some of the patrons noticed us and sent us smiles and waves. I waved in reply, always happy for the friendliness of the people Velaris, MY people._

_Stepping up onto the street we stood before a small restaurant, the smell of spices wafting through the air, the roaring laughter from its occupants echoing outside into the cold._

_“Your father is very intelligent,” I reminded Celeste gently, chuckling, as I adjusted her dark purple jacket and pulled down her fur lined hood from over her small head, “He’s only teasing you and your brother.”_

_She shot me a skeptical look, something far beyond her mere seven years. “I don’t think so Momma.”  I couldn’t contain the snort that time._

_“Come on,” I said with grin, “Let’s go see the idiot,” I winked and put a finger to my lips, “but don’t tell him I said that.” The grin she gave in response was priceless, her head nodding in conformation, her fingers zipping her lips._

_Stepping inside the building I quickly caught sight of our family, overcrowding a large table in the back, the roaring laughter heard earlier coming from them. I felt a familiar burning in my core when violet eyes rose to meet me, Rhy’s face breaking into a broad smile as he rose a hand motioning for us._  
  
The effects of seeing him never changed, even a hundred years after our mating.

_Removing Celeste’s jacket, I watched as her small black wings unfurled from their warm cocoon  
against her cream-colored sweater, stretching in the warmth. So very tiny and so precious. The fact she had inherited them a feat in itself._

_Free of her jacket she made a beeline for the table, her black curls bouncing. I could only smile as I folded her small jacket over an arm and followed, offering my apologies to the patrons my daughter had shoved through on her way to the back table. Their only responses being amused laughs at the little heir to their beloved High Lord and Lady._

_“Look who finally decided to join us,” I heard Cassian call from his seat on the end, holding his hands out for the small girl, a grin plastered on his face, his long hair pulled up and away from his face, “took you long enough primping those curls of yours.”_  
  
We were indeed late for dinner because she had adamantly refused to leave the house until her hair was properly curled.

 _A mystery indeed where than vanity had come from as well._  
  
_“Shut up Uncle,” Celeste replied coolly, completely side-stepping Cassian and walking down towards her other uncle, holding her hands up for Azriel, “Some of us don’t like looking like piggies.”_

_A roaring laugh came barreling from Cassian echoing loudly above the chuckles and amused giggles from the other occupants at the table. Even Armen graced the comment with a sharp cackle, her slick black hair bouncing with the movement._

_With an amused smirk on his face Azriel picked up his small niece, sitting her gently in his lap. The shadows at his wings nearly dissolving in the presence of the little girl who was so clearly attached to him. From her position beside him Elaine placed a small kiss on Celeste’s head, straightening curls as she pulled away.  
  
_ _I watched as Cenric, my son, seated next to his father promptly choked on the water he was drinking, dark blue eyes wide.  Ever well-mannered and the pacifist in comparison to his fiery sister._

_I stepped beside my son and patted him gently on the back, his blue eyes raising to meet mine as if to say,_ is she really saying this? _I could only shake my head in reply, amusement coursing through me._

_There was too much fire to contain within that little girl, best to let her get it out._

_Rising from his seat Rhys wrapped an arm around my waist and pressed a firm kiss to my neck, a greeting, one that caused the breath to hitch in my throat. I saw Cenric shift his attention to a very interesting green bean on his plate._

You shouldn’t do that in front of him _, I shot down the bond, playfully poking Rhy’s shield, my sons discomfort evident.  
  
 _ It’s good for him _, Rhys eyes seemed to say as he pulled the chair out for me_ , he should see how a woman is treated properly. _  
  
Stepping back, he pulled the seat out for me, allowing me to sit. The warmth from Rhys seeped into my chilled sweater and body as I sat and scooted closer to him, our hands entangling underneath the table.  
  
__“That’s painful Celeste,” Cassian feigned injury, his attention still directed towards the little girl now carefully perched in Azriel’s lap, a hand pressed dramatically to his chest, clearly intent on heckling her until he got another rise out of her, “You shouldn’t be so cruel to your uncle.”_  
  
_“Yes she should,” A comment from the ice vixen herself, Nesta smiled faintly behind a glass of a wine, her icy eyes bemused as she glanced at her mate, “Someone has to get that ego of yours in check. Who better to do it than an honest little girl?”_

_“I second that,” Mor added, golden curls hanging loose around her shoulders and wearing her signature red.  
  
_ _The tension between her and Nesta had slowly faded through the years. All that remained was an unrelenting force that was constantly checking Cassian’s ego, “We might make an emissary out of her yet. With that attitude and mouth she’d be brilliant to take to the gatherings of the High Lords.”_

_“No thanks.” Celeste supplied around a mouthful of food, having snuck fruit from her uncle’s plate, clearly too famished to wait for the food that had been previously ordered for her. I sent her a pointed look but Azriel only shook his head and wrapped his arms around the small girl tighter, his chin resting on top of her head.  
  
I refrained from sighing, he was completely wrapped around that little girl’s finger_ , almost _as bad as her father, “I want to be a General, let Cenric deal with the boring adults.”_

 _“Hey!” my son shot back, sitting up in seat, “That’s not fair!”_  
  
_“Why isn’t it?” Celeste replied, shoving another slice of fruit into her mouth, “You’re better at talking to people, I just want to break things and fight.” A familiar smirk graced her lips-Azriel may have been her favored uncle but her mannerism were clearly derived from Cassian.  
  
__“Because I’m the oldest! Besides,” Cenric’s arms crossed over his chest dramatically, his brow furrowing in annoyance, “you’re my sister and need to be protected, not out on the battlefield fighting!”  
  
Cenric’s loyalty to his sister had been evident from the day he had been told about her existence. Every kick and movement she had made in the womb he had wanted to feel. He had spoken to her through the duration of the pregnancy, as she had flopped inside me, and had hardly left her side since she had entered the world.    
  
__Celeste’s attachment to him was just as fierce, a constant desire to protect her older brother, a softer gentler spirit than herself. A spirit that was not built for war and had no desire to participate in it._  
  
_“No way!” Celeste shot back, her hands planting themselves flat against the dinner table, “You’re too sweet to be in battle. You can rule The Night Court and I’ll protect you from the bad guys.” A sharp nod as she sat back, leaning heavily against her uncle’s chest, a look of content on her small features.  
  
__“You know,” Cassian drew, as he watched the staring match between the two children, clearly entertained by their bickering, “You’ve got to get big before you can do any of that. Besides none of us are going anywhere anytime soon so get in line sweetheart for being General.”_  
  
_“Oh don’t worry uncle,” Celeste cocked her head, an equally devilish smirk on her face, “I’ll just beat you in battle and then you’ll have to let me be General.”  
  
__Rhys couldn’t contain himself as I heard him let out a low chuckle beside me, his eyes twinkling with unspoken pride at the confident child that was his own. He tightened his grasp on my hand and pulled it closer to him, his calloused fingers working soft circles into my palm._  
  
I love them, _I felt him say through the bond the happiness overwhelming_ , they are perfect. _He pulled my hand from under the table and pressed warm soft lips to the back of it,_ just as you are.

_I smiled in reply, I’d never been happier than I was in this moment. Rhys and I stared at one another, our eyes locking. His lips pulled up at that corner and he leaned forward to kiss me—_

_SPLAT. A spoonful of yogurt slammed into the side of his face, his handsome features set in a state of shock.  
  
__"Oops,” I heard Celeste’s soft voice say, sheepishness creeping into her tone, “I’m sorry Papa, that was meant for Uncle Cassian.”_  
  
_I felt a laugh build in my chest and proceeded to laugh until tears were streaming openly down my face._

_Yes, this was the way things were meant to be._

* * *

 

“Feyre,” Mor’s voice cut through the memory jolting me free of its presence, my attention having been lost in the past. Blinking I looked down at the dark plum jacket in my hands, it’s fur lined hood soft beneath my fingertips, “It’s time.”   
  
Looking up from my seated position in front of the vanity in my room I looked to Mor, her beautiful face somber and her outfit, usually colorful and vibrant, a solemn shade of grey. I nodded my head slowly and rose, my shoulders tight as I hugged the coat to my chest, the smell of her still lingering.  

“Cenric and Rhys are already at the burial site,” Mor supplied, chewing absentmindedly on her lip, “the others should be there shortly, we should go.”  
  
 Mor offered a hand out to me, an offering of comfort. I took it gingerly, the warmth from Mor’s warm hands seeping into my own. Those times had not lasted, they had faded those few short years ago when we’d lost the smallest of our own.

“Yes,” I replied, my voice foreign to my own ears with its soulless tone. It was always like this when we went to visit, my mind miles away and detached, “we should be.”

Mor nodded, her hand still tight in my own as we winnowed from the townhouse.

The darkness around me faded rapidly as we landed in a soft green field, the wind billowing gently through the willows that covered the lush valley. Wildflowers bloomed in every direction beneath the cloud covered sky, it’s flat color casting the scene in layers of muted grey.

There was a time when I would have wanted to paint it, to recreate it exactly as I saw it, but that desire had also faded those years ago.  In the distance beneath the largest willow stood two males, their physique and appearance near identical save for one possessing wings and the other not.

Sensing our arrival, the two men turned their attention towards us, their faces grave. Stepping nearly in sync they made their way towards Mor and I.

“Mom,” The wingless one greeted, Cenric, his black hair shaggier than his fathers, “you look nice.”

Stepping close to me he wrapped his arms around me, crushing me in a tight hug. I squeezed just as tightly in return. Releasing me he stepped back, his blue eyes rimmed in red, the smell of salt on his face. “Uncle Cass and Az said they’d be here shortly.”

I nodded my head slightly, the wall of numbness still barricading my mind from feeling. Mor stepped forward and linked her arm through Cenric’s, leading him back to the big willow, the place where I dreaded most to step.

“Feyre.” Rhys greeted, his voice low and eyes steady as he stepped towards me, pausing briefly as he searched for the words to say, none came. I only shook my head in understanding, feeling the hollow pain resonate down the bond between us. Our hands quickly found one another’s and interlocked, each of us a pillar of strength for the other.

Trailing through the tall grass we made our way to the stone circle underneath the large willow, rows and rows of lilies planted around it in full bloom. Sucking in a shuddering breath I stepped away from my mate and kneeled onto the cool ground, pressing my palm flat against the earthen surface.

“Hello, my little girl,” I spoke quietly, the tears finally beginning to clog my throat, “It looks like the lilies your aunt Elaine planted have really taken off.” My voice trailed off, the tears slowly beginning to spill down my face, “It’s been raining a lot too, I remember how much you loved the rain.”

Rhys hand came to sit on my shoulder a comforting weight. The flood gates broke as a wretched sob tore from my chest, Rhys’ arms now wrapped around me steadying.

Somehow even over a decade later visiting this grave had become no easier. Even with my father’s death the wound had healed with a few years’ time, but this cut deeper, far deeper. The night terrors and hollowness when I passed that small room in the Riverside Estate had not worn away. It felt as though the open wound were still there beneath the scarred surface, always throbbing and aching.

How utterly unfair and cruel it had been that we’d had to bury our tiny daughter’s wings, the only thing remaining from the gruesome death she had faced.

For a time we’d been convinced she was alive, searching constantly, through every town and home, combing through every blade of grass but nothing had appeared. It wasn’t until Helion sent us the news that his men had fished her small boots and cloak out of the ocean, clearly torn through and gnawed on by fish, that we had accepted the fact that she’d met her end in a watery grave.

It hadn’t taken long to discover who’d taken her, a group of Illyrian rebels exiled for trying to overthrow Rhysand had sought revenge and struck when we were least expecting it. They’d felt that kidnapping and murdering the precious flower of the Night Court and demolishing her wings would strike at the heart of the High Lord they so thoroughly despised; and it had been Keir, Mor’s father, who had gotten them into Velaris.

I’d never seen felt such seething rage when Azriel had winnowed in with the news, the shadows darker and denser than I’d ever seen with him.

It had been a blood bath.

We’d torn the Illyrians limb from limb, slowly, deliberately and without an ounce of mercy.

The Court of Dreams became the Court of Death that night when we’d slaughtered them like livestock.

There had been no remorse in their eyes as we destroyed them either, only cool satisfaction that they had struct the most vital piece of the Court of Dreams. The bile rose at the back of my throat as I thought of the gruesome tale they told us, the truth of their words that had echoed throughout their minds when I’d held them.

How they had torn her to bits all the while screaming out for her father, for Azriel, Cassian, Nesta, ME, anyone to stop the agony.

Rhys lost it.

Nothing could have contained the power that tore the banished lords apart after they’d told the tale, and none of us had stepped in to stop it. We’d bled the remaining Illyrians for every ounce of agony they’d inflicted on her.

Blood had pooled that night, only a small piece of retribution for what had been stolen.

 After we’d winnowed directly to the Court of Nightmares where Keir had finally faced the end of he wretched existence. The mountain had shuddered beneath us when we’d landed, and Rhys had misted him, misted them _all_ into nothingness, without a word.

Those that had survived the attack had ran, fearful of their lives, the blood of their brethren falling like rain around them. The High Lord had finally demonstrated the true extent of his power, had finally eradicated them for the insects they were.

Their lives had been worth so much less than hers. They could never replace hers, could never fill the void that had permanently formed in my heart and soul.

Finally, it had been mourning, mourning and mourning, that seemed to have no end or beginning. Which it what is was now, as I kneeled on the ground before her grave, a pain and injustice that should have never happened.

I barely heard the soft crunch of earth as Amren, Azriel, Cassian and my sisters joined us. Their faces stoic as they circled around the small grave, the wind billowing their hair. Glancing towards the side I saw Azriel’s gloved hands clasped in front of him, leather gloves on his hands he refused to remove, his eyes soft as he looked at the sodden patch of earth.

Celeste had reversed the scars on his hands, had completely eradicated the memory of his terrors, when her powers had finally manifested. That gift she had given Azriel had turned into a curse, a reminder of the little girl that he hadn’t been able to protect or save. So, he wore the gloves, a way to hide his shame and regret for something he had loved so dearly and fiercely.

Her powers were what we had feared would get her killed, we could have never imagined that it would be internal workings and rebellions that would have taken her from us.

Tears blurred my vision as I realized again that we’d fought the last time I’d spoken to her, an argument about flying, about her having to stay safe and protected, that we couldn’t risk taking her outside of Velaris, not until things had settled, until things were secured.

I felt the bile rise in my throat again but forced it down, I would not deface her grave, this peaceful place that held something that was so near and dear. I heard Cassian shift to my right, a small bouquet of flowers in his arms, as he stepped forward and laid them against the grey headstone. He always brought flowers when we came to visit, the flowers that Celeste always demanded of him when she had been small.  _Bring me back highland roses_ , she’d tell him when he’d leave for the Steppes,  _bring me back a bunch Uncle._

He’d never once forgotten her roses, not even now.

I felt Rhys’ strong arms pulled me upright, a gentle reminder that we couldn’t lose ourselves to the misery and that for her sake we’d have to keep living. Shaking my head and wiping the tears away I allowed my mate to pull me into a standing position, my knees weak.

I noticed Amren to my left, her face flat and seemingly unfazed unlike the rest of the occupants, her fingers toying with a hideously jeweled pin on her shirt. A gift from a little girl who had adored her to no end. Her face may have been passive, but I knew a storm dwelled deep underneath.

A long unaltered silence enveloped us as we stood there lost to our own internal devices.

“I see the lilies are doing well,” It was Elaine who broke the silence, her golden hair braided about her head and brown eyes misty, “I’m glad they turned out so nicely. She would have loved them.”  
  
“Yes she would have,” Rhys replied, his deep voice vibrating through his chest, ever grateful that Elaine took the time and effort to tend to the flowers that surrounded our daughters resting place, “and somewhere I’m sure she’s delighted to know that they’re here to keep her company when we cannot.”

“She always did love gardening with you,” Nesta supplied from her position next to Cassian, their arms intertwined, “she was always so pleased when you’d let her dig holes in the garden.”

“For something that was so focused on being presentable,” Cassian added, his eyes clearly lost in the memory, “she had no issues getting messy or doing dirty work.”

“Of course not, she feared nothing,” Cenric added, he hands stuffed in his pockets and shoulder’s hunched, “she would have made an incredible High Lady.”

“Or General,” Azriel added, Elaine tucked in close to his side, “she would have made us all very proud.”  
  
“She did,” Rhy’s near whispered, his arms tightening around my waist, “she did make all of us very proud.”  
  
A silence fell between all of us as thunder began roaring above our heads.  
  
“It looks like she’ll get her thunderstorm,” Mor cooed, her lips turning up at the corners, “maybe you should take the advice she use to give you Cassian and go fly into one and see what happens.” A low round of chuckles followed.

“She was always going nose to nose with you,” Mor continued, brushing her golden locks out of her face, “I wonder if she really would have ended up besting you in battle for the title of General.”  
  
“I would have liked to have seen her try,” Cassian said, something like weakness in his voice, “I would have trained her to be the best she could have possibly been.” It was obvious to that it killed Cassian to never have even gotten the chance.

“I think she would have made a much better spy,” Elaine interjected, her hands wrapped about Azriel’s arm, “she actually listened to Azriel.”  
  
“Unlike you Cassian,” Nesta drew, her hand interlocked with Cassian’s own, “all you could ever get out of her was attitude.”  

“Stubborn thing she was,” Amren snorted, her fingers having dropped from the pendant, silver eyes slid over to me, clearly reading between the lines, “we’d best be on our way before the storm flushes us out.”

“I’m going to stay longer,” I replied, the warmth of Rhys the only thing staving off the shivering that threatened to wrack my body, “but the rest of you should go.” A quiet dismissal, a rare order from their High Lady. I needed this time to mourn with my mate and I needed it to be alone.

Everyone muttered their farewells and began making their way away from the grave, Mor looping her arm through her nephews, another yearly visit finished. Only Azriel lingered, his hazel eyes locked on the headstone, before he finally bowed his head and made to leave, Elaine waiting for him up the valley.  

As everyone vacated I leaned further back into Rhys, the smell of citrus surrounding me as heavy raindrops began falling on our heads.

“A thought for a thought?” I inquired, wrapping my arms around my mates, cocooning myself in him as I felt his head nod on top of mine, “I wish I could kill them all again, make them pay for what they took.”  
  
“I know my love,” Rhys whispered into my hair, his hot breath tickling my neck, I felt warm droplets slide down my neck, “I’d give anything to have her home again, I’d give my very life to get her back.”  
  
“So would I.”

With that the rain came down in a heavy torrent as we stood there waiting and watching, wondering how one could ever be the same after something so important had been ripped away. We stayed there through the storm and late into the evening, until the sun had set and the growls of the beasts in the woods began to call.

Only then did we leave, but even so our hearts reminded at that small solemn grave, protected by lilies and the love of those who had cherished her most. 


	5. Tainted Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay in updates! I've been busy working on other writing project and works. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

"Momma?" Anelisse said in disbelief as she made her way into the house, her tone revealing that she wasn't entirely believing the sight she was seeing. Anidre hadn't been out of bed on her own in the last eight months let alone coherent enough to wash and dress herself.

"Anelisse," Anidre's soft voice called, her amber eyes awake and focused, "Celeste, I'd wondered where you two had wandered off too. Are you alright?" A shared glance of disbelief between the girls.

"Yes, Yes!" Anelisse replied, clutching the paints to her chest, relief evident in her silver eyes, her lower lip wobbling, "we're just fine, Celeste just took me to town to get us new clothes and bought me paints! Here have a look." Anidre smiled and opened her arms out to her daughter, welcoming her to come sit with her.

Celeste stood dumbfounded, her hands going slack around the satchel of food she carried. How, she thought in disbelief, watching the middle-aged woman coo at her blonde child, had she recovered so quickly? A sinking feeling traced through Celeste's gut.

"Celeste," Anidre called, breaking Celeste's stupor,"Come join us my little fae child," her arms wrapping around Anelisse, the young blonde leaning against her mother, "the food can wait." Anidre's amber eyes drifted towards the satchel of goods that Celeste had, her eyes probing their contents.

Blinking back the surprise Celeste smiled softly and set the food down, mindful to not rattle the satchel in her pocket, and strode towards the two-woman perched carefully in the old wooden chair. She could prep the food in a moment.

Opening her free arm Anidre wrapped it about Celeste and pulled her in close. Celeste was met with the onslaught of the smell of cedarwood and lemon verbena, Anidre's most beloved soap. The woman's arms, now thin and frail from disuse, tugged tightly around Celeste's small waist, bringing her into the warmth of her adopted mother's side.

* * *

A few weeks passed without incidence, the storms still raging off the coast. With the waters remaining treacherous Celeste was left with more free time that she'd had in years. An empty pocket of existence that wasn't filled with work that kept her both busy and exhausted.

She'd decided to spend that time with her adopted mother and sister, laughing and chattering, watching Anelisse paint the days away.

The pale blonde had painted anything and everything: flowing ocean seas, vibrant flowers and images of faraway stone castles she'd never seen but had dreamt of. The style of her brush strokes so reminiscent of a fleeting memory of a woman Celeste once knew who loved to paint.

Anidre had sat in the chair beside her and had watched as well, her eyes crinkling with pride as Anelisse expertly blended the colors and brought vision after vision to life.

Celeste and Anelisse had ventured into town two weeks after first seeing Pennelope to pick up their new clothes and boots. They had entered the shop to find their new clothes packed and wrapped, waiting for them on the front counter.

The friendly woman had given each of the girls a mischievous grin before announcing there were presents for both of them inside and that she fully intended to see them at the town dance in three days' time and that they'd best not be late.

Celeste hadn't realized it was already time for the Earth Rite, Imbolc, centered around the awakening of the Spring, the festival that even the little town of Vanica rallied to celebrate.

Upon returning home they'd found new outfits: dark pants and light shirts for Celeste and two wool spun dresses for Anelisse, crafted with sage and cream fabrics. The most startling had been Pennelope's gift though.

Alongside the new outfits the seamstress had sewn two simple but beautifully crafted dancing dresses, one a pale dusty pink with a golden sash at its waist and the other a deep rich plum, a sash of the same hue tied about its middle. They were expertly stitched and sturdy, made of material that was expensive and difficult to obtain in an isolated place such as Vanica.

Upon finding the dresses Anelisse's jaw had gone slack.

Celeste had carefully ran her fingers over the soft material, it's color the same deep hue she had loved so dearly as a child.

"There's no way we could ever afford this," Anelisse had said breathlessly, her silver eyes wide, "why would Pen do this? Surely this is a hardship on her?"

 _Once_ , Celeste had thought idly to herself, still running her fingers along the dress,  _once I could have afforded this_. The recollection of dancing and fine fabrics drifted through her mind like a fine tune replaying murky highlights of her youth. The tinkering memory of laughter and being lifted high as she danced through the night in the most beautiful city in the world bloomed at the front of her mind-.

She had shut down the memory immediately.

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth," Celeste had replied her lips slightly downturned at the corners, the memory still tugging at the edges of her mind, "and we both know full well returning the dresses will get us nothing but a lecture."

Which had led to where Celeste stood now, her eyes cast out of the window of their small home, her hands hanging awkwardly at her side as she swayed slightly, testing the movement of the material around her. The dress was a bit big, hanging loosely around her slim shoulders and modest chest, but it fit. She ran her hands awkwardly through her freshly washed hair, the silky black tendrils clingy to her hand.

She must have looked ridiculous.

Anelisse had insisted on smearing kohl around her eyes and pinching her cheeks to add a flush of color. She had almost forced a pink coloring cream on her lips but had clicked her tongue in distaste, informing Celeste that she had "more than enough color" naturally and that she and her good "breeding" could kindly go find somewhere else to be where she didn't have to look at it.

Celeste had only blinked in response before Anelisse had shoved her out of the room, insistent on prepping herself for the dance, something she was incredibly excited about attending.

Celeste, however, was not.

She had no desire to venture into Vanica and spend the evening celebrating with the town's inhabitants, dancing and singing until the sun rose on the horizon.

No she would have much rather spent the evening quietly curled up amongst her blankets on the floor, the makeshift bed she had slept on for the last decade, and let her mind wander wherever it pleased.

Her heart still stung after the shouting match she'd had with Anidre, the one where she had stormed out of the cottage and into the woods days before to ignore what she had spent so long suppressing.

* * *

_Celeste tilted her head back, laughter spilling forth from her lips as she wiped stray tears of merriment from her eyes. The story Anidre had just finished telling leaving her in a state of disbelief and great amusement._

"You can't be serious," Anelisse replied, shoveling bread into her mouth, her focus entirely on her mother, "Father was surely not that awkward or clumsy." Silver eyes filled with amusement regarded her mother whose lips were puckered in laughter.

_"Oh he was," Anidre chuckled, her pallid face full of color for the first time in ages, her peppered hair neatly braided in a cornet. She carefully ran a hand across the plait smoothing over any fly away hairs, "he knocked over every last breakable thing in that room, the sisters of the blessed were none too pleased."_

_"I imagine not." Anelisse replied, silver eyes alight and full of hope, something so at odds with the somber creature she had been mere hours before._

"Your father was a strange sort," Anidre said with a breathy laugh, her amber eyes twinkling in the firelight, "though you are not as strange as he was, I see him in you. His beauty was definitely passed to you." Her eyes softened as she took in her only child, the splitting image of the man she had loved the most. Anelisse's silver eyes and ashen hair striking and lovely as her fathers had supposedly been.

_"Thank you Momma," Anelisse said, passing a hand over her long hair, her mother having just finished braiding it, small bits of old ribbon incorporated throughout, "I remember him sometimes, especially his kind eyes and smile." Anelisse sat on the floor, her elbow propped against her knee and face resting in her palm, her mind clearly lost in the memory._

_"Me too," Anidre smiled, setting her plate of food to the side and wrapping her blanket tightly around her shoulders, "He would have been so proud of you." Anidre shifted her attention towards Celeste, her lips splitting in a small smile, "He would have delighted to have been able to help raise you."_

_Celeste swallowed her food, feeling awkward at the attention. She had never had the pleasure of meeting the man who had impacted her adopted mother and sister's life so deeply. She shifted awkwardly, rearranging her legs and moving her porcelain mug with such care, ensuring not to drop it._

_One of three their small family possessed, one that she had inherited from the man whose presence had filled this space before her._

_"I'm sorry I never got to meet him," Celeste replied, brushing crumbs from her lap and looking at the small cup in her hands, it's old surface still beautiful even with it's evident wear, "the stories you tell about him make him sound like a wonderful husband and father."_

_"That he was," Anidre mused, leaning back into her rocking chair, she watched the young fae woman with gentle eyes, "he always said he would have liked to have had another child." Celeste felt her shoulder's sag a bit at the comment, the memory of another once kind husband and father brushing against the edges of her mind._

_A soft silence settled between the three with only the sound of the crackling embers filling the air._

_"He did not see your kind as I do, as deities to our mortal selves," Anidre continued after some time, her brows knitted at the center of her forehead as she gazed off into the fire, a pit suddenly forming in Celeste's stomach, "but he would have loved you none the less."_

Anidre's focus slide away from the fire, a sigh slipping through her lips, "How I wish I could see the fae lands myself, to be amongst those who are so much greater than ourselves."

_Celeste had to reel in her sudden revulsion at the mention of the fanatical opinions Anidre had of the fae, the disgust towards the beginning of a conversation that Celeste did not want to have. She resisted the urge to bark her disagreement, she knew what many of the fae still thought of mortals and knew Anidre wouldn't stand a chance amongst them._

_Even with the changes that had been actively implemented after the war a hundred years before many of the fae still held strict lines of division between themselves and mortals._

_"Maybe one day," Anidre drew, her amber eyes sparkling, Anelisse had stilled, "You could take us to be amongst your people, with the money we were so blessed to have been given, to be accepted into the arms of your benevolent kind."_

_"No." Celeste growled, her voice coming out more vicious than intended, her violet eyes narrowing. She should have known this was where the conversation would be headed, "I will not take you to the fae lands, you nor I have any business in them."_

_"Celeste." Anelisse chided, hearing the cold anger that had coated her tone, "Mother. Please, let this go." The light that had lit Anelisse's bright face had dimmed, her silver eyes crinkled in despair at such a warm moment spoiled._

_"You are one of them." Anidre replied, ignoring her daughters pleas, her eyes taking on the wild look she often got when talking about the fae, "Surely you must understand that your place is not amongst mere humans, you have to return home someday-"_

_"I will not return to that place," Celeste stated, her gaze focused wholly on Anidre, as she refrained from shooting to her feet, "Not now, not ever." Celeste ran a hand through her black hair, loose from its ever-present braid for one before letting out a defeated sigh, "Please, let this go."_

_"You must understand you don't belong here," Anidre retorted, slipping the blanket from her shoulders as she fixed her gaze on the young fae woman sitting on the floor before her, "the Mother has a means of guiding the hands of her children. She has always lead me true and has given us the blessing of this money as a way to tell us it's time-"_

_"We will not waste the money that has been gifted to us on a fools whim to travel to a land of killers," Celeste's temper snapped as her voice amplified itself into a crescendo, her fists white knuckled beside her. She felt the fiery temper she had smothered for years flaring to the surface, "There isn't even enough money to take us to the mainland."_

_How she wished Anidre hadn't snooped through her clothes, wished that she hadn't found the small satchel of copper that become their lifeline in the days when the storm had raged uncharacteristically on the coast. How she wished the conversation hadn't taken this turn and they could have enjoyed one peaceful night in an ocean of dreadful existence._

_"We could send a letter and a gift," Anidre almost pleaded, her voice having become almost fanatic, "we could send a contribution to the Children of the Blessed, they would send for us, bring us to them and you could lead up into the fae lands, you could go home."_

_Celeste shook her head and rose to her feet, intent on stepping away from the dreaded conversation that always reared its ugly head in peaceful times. Guilt and shame tugged at her._

_"You must have a family," Anidre tried to reason, flinching as she realized she had ruined any chance of persuasion with the girl and had only succeeded in upsetting her, "Celeste you have never told us anything of your life or your past, surely you had a mother? Siblings? A father-"_

_"That has never been any of your concern." Celeste ground out, her back suddenly going rigid. Anelisse was glancing between the two, worry clearly marring her beautiful features as she helplessly looked on._

_"You are my child Celeste," Anidre replied, a fierce sort of look coming about her, "therefore you are my concern."_

_Silence._

_"Celeste," Anidre reasoned again, reaching tentatively towards the girl, "You do don't you my sweet child?" Her expression softened, "Don't you miss them? Don't you want to go home."_

_"No." Celeste replied flatly, her hands wrapped tightly around the porcelain cup, a quiver beginning to dance through her body, she didn't want to think about this, to acknowledge this, "I have no desire to go back. None."_

_"You have a family," Anidre tried again, her voice lifting in pitch, "A family that would see that me raising you had been a gift, a gift to the masters I've always wanted to serve," Celeste felt her heart twang painfully, a gaping hole forming in the center of her chest._

_"Say that again," Celeste said slowly, cutting off Anidre's tirade, her violet eyes sharp in the shadowed room, her breathing oddly unsteady, "Repeat to me what you just said."_

_"You were a gift from the Mother," Anidre replied, her thin hands shaking, but Amber eyes locked with Celeste's own violet, a fierce sort of crazed light in them, "A gift to prove my love to the fae lords. A gift that if I took care of properly would buy me entrance into the immortal lands of milk and honey."_

_"That's it isn't it?" Celeste said, something like defeat in her voice, "You only took me in because I was fae," her voice trailed off, pieces aligning themselves in her mind, "I was a tool to be used for your own gaining."_

_Celeste had always known, at least subconsciously, but Anidre had never voiced it and Celeste wasn't certain why it stung so much.  
Why would a human woman, a starving, poor widow, want to take on a child not of her own race with no means to raise her? Only if she felt she could gain something from it. Celeste had known that but to hear the words voiced and brought to light opened a pit of sorrow in Celeste that she had refused to acknowledge._

_The last decade came into sharp focus for her, the sacrifice she had made to keep Anidre and Anelisse alive, all the guilt and pain she felt for hindering their happiness, it all flooded her at once. Some well inside of her broke as the image of a black-haired man laughing and kissing her face flashed through her mind, waves of sadness, of longing she had long suppressed flooded through her._

_"Anelisse," Anidre spun suddenly, looking towards her daughter, a last ditch effort to turn the argument into her favor, "If you married into the Pennington line-"_

_"No," Celeste cut in, her eyes having narrowed in on the older woman, "Anelisse will not marry that monster of a man to fund your foolish desires. "_

_"That's what he would call you," Anidre murmured, her eyes downcast and face tight in irritation, a low careless comment designed to strike deep, "A monster. Human's don't understand your kind-"_

_With no consciousness to the motion Celeste's hand had found its way around the porcelain mug she'd been drinking from and sent it flying into the wall._

_A loud smash resounded throughout the room as porcelain shards splintered everywhere, flying in every direction. A screech of surprise escaped Anelisse's throat as the mug impacted on the wall, her mouth loose as she watched the shards plummet to the ground._

_Shame flooded Celeste when she saw that she had shattered the precious cup in her fury. It only fueled her frenzy._

_The energy in the room became palpable, strung tight like a violin string close to snapping. An eerie silence had encompassed the room and Celeste's eyes had become unusually animal like as she stood, body tight and posed to strike like a viper, the air around her almost pulsing._

_"You're absolutely right," Celeste muttered, lifting her eyes to Anidre, lips pulling back from her teeth "I am is a monster. A ferocious, vile, hideous monster impeding on this island sense of comfort and values," she drew an unsteady breath, her entire frame vibrating, "You should have left me to die on that beach."_

_A memory surfaced._

"Little one," she could hear his voice comfort, tears leaking down her face as his large hand stroked her wings and his other hand sat gingerly on her sleep mused curls, "you must come quietly or more of them will die."

 _A shift in the memory_.

The cold wind biting into her face.

"What a monster you are." She heard the deep voice coo as they flew high above, the fires burning wide across the city she loved, "Look at what your power has caused, nothing but turmoil. You can't stay. We must go."

The blinding, earthing shattering pain and the sound of tearing filling the air-

_It ended as abruptly as it began._

_Celeste promptly gripped her head, pain smashing through her skull as the memory took hold, a vicious growl escaping her lips._

_Turning on her heel she raced towards the door, her mind a whirlwind of things that had long since been dormant. She needed a secluded, isolated space to deal with the storm raging in her mind. This wasn't that place._

_She barely heard Anelisse reprimand Anidre before she was out the door and racing into the woods, trying to smother the memories she never wanted to acknowledge again. The icy rain bit into her face as she flew through the trees, their branches a blur._

_She distantly heard Anelisse's cry to wait before she plummeted into the darkness she had long since buried._

* * *

Anelisse had found her a few hours later sitting on a soaked rock shivering from the cold, her eyes glazed and mind a million miles away.

Anelisse had coaxed her to come back to the house, had proceeded to strip her of her soaked clothes before helping wash her in the warm water she had boiled. They had both laid down on the small makeshift bed of blankets they slept on together before the fire. Anelisse had snuggled close to her throughout the night, murmuring words of soft comfort.

Celeste had not slept.

The following morning Anidre did not leave her room, from anger or shame Celeste wasn't certain, but she was thankful for the peace from the pestering. It had taken a few days, but things had gradually fallen back into a groove of semi-normalcy with no mention of the money or the fae lands.

She did not want to think on it.

A throat cleared behind her and Celeste turned around to come face to face with Anidre, her amber eyes hooded as she glanced towards the floor, her hands wringing her dress.

Celeste quirked a brow, her muscles tightening preparing to deal with another onslaught of ignorance.

"You have been a blessing," Anidre murmured, her face finally rising to meet Celeste's, silver tears at their edges, "I was mistaken in pushing you the way I did and for saying what I said, I am sorry." Anidre dropped her head and a wave of relief cascaded through her.

"Let's just move past it," Celeste answered, her hands awkwardly searching for pockets to stuff themselves into, a habit she had when uncomfortable, but having none, "things are better this way."

"Yes," Anidre replied, a stray tear slipping down her nose and she walked up to Celeste, her frame much shorter and frail than her adopted daughters, "you are right as you have always been. Let that be the end of it."

 _For now_ , Celeste thought drily, sarcastic tones dancing around the notion that Anidre was even close to finished with this argument. Her thoughts were interrupted however when the door to the second room opened and Anelisse stepped out.

Celeste stared.

Anelisse had most definitely grown into herself.

Draped in the rose gown, Anelisse no longer looked like a gangly teenager, composed of nothing but knees and elbows, but rather a grown woman, the gown doing wonders to accent that. Her ashen hair had been braided half up and her natural loose curls fell about her shoulders. Her eyes were smeared with a touch of kohl and her lips painted the softest pink, that awful cream she had almost forced Celeste to endure.

"You look lovely." Anidre complimented her daughter, watching the girl tentatively swish her skirt.

'You think?" she asked bashfully, turning once to test the flaring of the dress, it billowed wide and settled as her turn came to a stop. Anidre nodded. Anelisse turned her attention to Celeste.

"And you?" Anelisse asked, silver eyes hopefully, "what do you think sister?"

"Well," Celeste chirped, her arms crossing over her chest, a devilish smirk pulling her lips upward, "I think I'm not going to get to avoid murder this evening." She looked her nails, as though checking them for dirt, "I'm going to have to castrate every man who even glances your way dressed like that." A blush ran across Anelisse's feature as Anidre chuckled.

"You will do no such thing," Anelisse hissed, awkwardly running her hands down the front of the dress, "I intend to dance the entire evening with any suitor I see fit, with or without your approval." Celeste flashed a grin at Anelisse.

"Fair enough," Celeste patted Anidre gently on the shoulder before brushing past her and making her way towards the front of the cottage, "but don't blame me if your "suitors" mysteriously start disappearing." With a glance over her shoulder and a wink Celeste slipped through the cottage door and out into the warm evening air.

A loud, "Wait for me!" echoed behind Celeste along with a "Enjoy yourselves!" as she trotted along the path, her plum dress billowing in the evening breeze.

 _Best get it over with_ , she mused the sarcasm returning in full strength,  _what could possibly go wrong?_


	6. Betrayal--Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi All! I'd like to start by apologizing for the delay in updates on this story--I'm still working on it but it's only in piece mill right now and I haven't had time to give it the attention it needs for updates. HOWEVER, I do have the next two chapters finished, they need editing but will be up in the next week. SO while waiting for that I've given you the first part of Chapter 6 to hopefully hold you over until I can edit the rest of the next two chapters. I've also included some quick character sketches of Celeste and Anelisse to serve as apology for the delay in updates! Hope you enjoy! 
> 
> https://nyxwolfe.deviantart.com/art/Lily-of-the-Night-Character-Concept-Sketches-738884493 <\-- art link here

A lot of things. That’s what could go wrong, A lot. Celeste hissed as she yanked at the chains encompassing her wrist, they didn’t budge. She flicked her sweat drenched hair out of her face and scowled at the dimly lit cabin around her, water dripping from the wooden beams above. The dim gas light did little to illuminate the stuffy belly of the ship.

Oh, Lukas Pennington’s days were numbered.

The lovely plum gown, the one Pennelope had labored over, was the only thin barrier to the thick chains, iron chains, encompassing her waist and pinning her to the ridged wooden mast. Idiots she would have called them, fools for thinking iron could hold her had it not been for the ash splinters littering her limbs.

“Don’t look so put out darling,” A dusty blonde headed fae man purred from his position propped against the entryway into the bowels of the ship, his mossy green and gold eyes luminous in the shadowed cabin, a predator standing guard over its prey, “I could help you ease your discomfort with those shackles you know.” a flirtatious grin graced his face as he peered forward, eyes crinkling in amusement.

A growl escaped Celeste’s lips that pulled an pleased chuckle from the man’s lips, lips that were upturned in a self-righteous, pompous smirk that made Celeste want to smash his pretty jawbone. The smirk meshed flawlessly with his beautiful face, one of nothing but slick planes and sharp lines. Celeste might have ventured to have regarded him as attractive, stunning even, has she not been so dead set on ripping his throat out just to shut out his insufferable taunting.

Taunting that had been ongoing for the last several hours, since she’d been hung up like a freshly slaughtered pig left to bleed.

“Or not,” he cooed, tilting his head to the side, sending his cropped shaggy tresses across his forehead, the strands curling at the ends with the humidity, “suit yourself. “A nonchalant shrug, dismissive. “I’ve had woman throw myself at me in less ideal conditions than this. You’ll be the same soon enough.”

Fire, angered chaotic flame, flared to life in Celeste’s chest.

“Why don’t you come here,” Celeste bit back in in return, her lips pulling back from her teeth in a sneer, bucking against the chains around her waist, the useless iron chains, holding her in place against the beam, “and I’ll ease your discomfort of existing.”

“Ah ah ah,” he clicked his tongue, ticking his index finger in time, his booted footfalls unnaturally quiet and light as he approached her, “there’ll be none of that. Captain’s orders not to ruin that pretty face of yours.” He reach out a long, lean finger as though to caress her face but stopped, his thumb coming up to rest against his finger and—thunk. He flicked her in the nose.

The growl that escaped her lips was nothing less than primal.

“Oh I don’t think it’ll be my pretty face being ruined,” she willed the chain around her waist to buckle, to break, “I think I’ll break your nose first. Then you’re jaw, then stomp your knees caps before ripping your spine out through your throat. How’s that order sound to you?”

The ship rocked, throwing Celeste off kilter and to the side painfully. She bit down on the scream of pain as the ash splinters in her arms swelled agonizingly.

“Sounds like you’re in no position to be making threats.” The blonde man gave a halfhearted bow before turning on his booted heel and walking out through the archway, his shadow long in the dim light, “don’t worry you won’t be our problem much longer.”

The man disappeared up a set of stairs and Celeste let out a slurry of curse words that would have made any sailor blush. Letting out a hiss of defeat she slumped against the mast, her head falling forward.

How had it all gone to hell so quickly? She lifted her head up and glanced around the cabin, the ichor and stench nearly intolerable. She hoped Anelisse had at least listened and had gotten the hell out. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. How could Anidre have betrayed them like this?

She forced the tears to subside, they would do her no good. A black tarry sickness had settled in the pit of her stomach, a sickness that stemmed from the fact that Anidre had willingly sold Anelisse into marriage to fuel her own foul desires.

She forced away the images of Anelisse screaming, begging pleas as they’d stormed the house and pinned her down, a nasty lot of skulking human men that had encompassed her in ash and drug her onto a boat to be sold to the highest bidder, for a power she’d thought had vanished. She should have never saved Marrien, but she’d only acted on instinct, acted on knowing what it was like to drown--

Oh things had gone wrong, definitely wrong.


	7. Betrayal Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter as promised. Next one should be up soon!

The sound of fireworks exploded in the sky, eliciting oos and ahhs from the occupants of the town square, the bonfire’s burning brightly in the evening light. The chatter of people and sweet aroma of wine filling the night air. Celeste tentatively sipped at the glass of wine, a sparkling berry medley, one of the islands grocers had offered her with a small smile and nod.

She’d sniffed it thoroughly before drinking it.

“Did you see that?” Anelisse asked, her silver eyes cast skyward and jaw loose in awe, the light of the bonfire casting her ashen hair in a golden sheen and her own glass of wine hanging limping between her fingers, “I swear they get bigger every year.”

“I’ve seen better,” Celeste replied, a small smile on her face and she leaned over towards her sister, “one’s the size of the island itself, bigger even.”

“Really?” Anelisse inquired, looking slightly taken aback by the sudden offer of information that Celeste so often hid, “what did they look like?”

“Lightning and flame,” Celeste’s arms were crossed at the wrist as she lazily swirled her wine, her eyes cast skyward as more fireworks exploded, “gold and silver, rich hues of reds, green, purple, you name it, it was there.” Celeste blew a stray strand of her hair from her face, “we even had lights than raced through the sky as though they were dancing spirits themselves.”

Never mind mentioning to Anelisse they actually were spirits. It didn’t matter either way, Celeste mused, she just wanted to share something with her sister, some honesty that she’d been so reluctant to give.

“Whoa,” Anelisse whistled, her gaze lost in imagination as she pictured the swirl of color in her mind, “I wonder what it looked like, what it’d be like to paint that.”

“Lovely.” Celeste replied, sitting forward, thinking back on the lovely paintings that had lined the walls of her childhood home, of the ridiculously large painting of a Pegasus that had hung above her bed since she’d been a small tot of four. She wondered if that painting still hung there. “Capturing them on canvas would be quiet a feat.”

“I wish I could have seen them with you,” Celeste quirked a brow at her sister’s suddenly somber tone, her hands rubbing together absentmindedly, “but I’ll just always be here in Vanica.”

“What makes you so certain of that?” Celeste replied, having sat forward to look more closely at her sister, a tug of sadness pulling at her gut upon seeing her previously vibrant sister so quiet.

“It’s true,” Anelisse replied, refusing to look at her sister, “I’ve nothing special to offer the people on this island much less the big wide world, but you...” Anelisse’s voice trailed off as she sat down her wine glass, and began to twirl an ashen curl about her finger, “the looks, the experiences, the strength,” an overdramatized sigh, all signs of the previous sadness instantly winking out as she looked at her sister, the back of her palm pressed to her forehead, “oh how unfortunate I am.”

Celeste wasn’t buying her sudden mood change for even a moment. She set her sister a knowing look, demanding a further explanation from the blonde. Anelisse swallowed hard.

“You’re different you know, not confined to this small existence,” Silver eyes glanced up, full of some unnamed emotion, “you were never meant to be stranded here, even if you choose to stay. We’re mortal Celeste, our days are limited. You, you’re infinite, you’ll be around long after Vanica no longer exists-“

“Enough,” Celeste chastised cutting Anelisse off, “you’re being completely nonsensical.” Celeste watched as her sister begin to sway to some invisible tune, she took a stabling breath, “when we get away from this place I want to take you to see those things, to experience them.”

“I thought you were set on never leaving,” Anelisse quipped, her lips tugging up at the corners, “what happened to staying safe and stable?”

“I never said I wouldn’t leave, I just said I wasn’t going back to where I came from,” Celeste swallowed hard as the fireworks continued to boom above them, “and I’m tired of this little town, of this ignorant place. There’s so much out there, more than you or I even know.” She glanced towards her sister who was watching her intently.

Anelisse bit at her bottom lip, a nervous habit she’d never broken, “you would truly leave with me? We could go together?” She glanced off to the side, her curls falling over her shoulder, “but what of Momma?”

“I won’t take her to the Fae lands if that’s what you’re asking,” Celeste snorted, Anelisse shot her a look of disdain, of course Anelisse knew that, “but we could go to the mainland, one of the larger mortal cities, find real jobs and a new home.”

A small smile broke across Anelisse’s face, “Yes,” she mused a sparkle entering her eyes, “I think I’d like that very much.” With quick nimble hands Anelisse reach into the folds of her dress and withdrew a small pendant, barely the size of a thimble.

The thoughts drained from Celeste’s head though when she saw the small necklace clutched tightly in Anelisse’s hand, her mind vacant and silent.

“I wanted to give you this,” Anelisse said, her hands holding out the exquisite round amethyst pendant, barely the size of a larks egg, on a silver chain, the light reflecting like stars off its dark surface, “I found this hung around your neck the night Mamma brought you home and have been holding onto it for you until I felt it was right to return it.” Celeste’s eyes focused in on the small pendant, her heart skipping a beat at the sight of it, “I wanted to keep it safe, I didn’t want to lose it, or to let mamma be careless with it."

“Thank you,” Celeste managed, a sense of understanding filtering through her as Anelisse stepped up to offer the necklace to Celeste.

Celeste only shook her head and wrapped Anelisse’s fingers around the pendant.

“Please keep it safe for me awhile longer,” Celeste choked out, willing the tears and memories down at the sight of the piece of incriminating evidence, the one that linked her to her past, “I want to wait before I take it,” Celeste shook her head, clearing her thoughts, “I want to be able to explain everything to you before I take it.” Anelisse nodded her head and tightened her grip on the necklace.

“I will keep it safe,” Anelisse replied, her silver eyes searching Celeste’s face, “I love you very much, please know that.”

“I do Anelisse,” Celeste replied, patting her sisters cheek, “I do. I love you too.” Anelisse leapt forward and wrapped her arms around Celeste as though she were a lifeline. Celeste wrapped her arms just as tightly around Anelisse, her face burying into her sister’s hair.

“We’re family,” Anelisse looked off to the side, her arms still locked around Celeste, “You and I. Momma…. I can’t do this with her any longer, she’s never going to change, I love her…. but I can’t do this.” Tears slipped down Anelisse’s face, “I need something more, I’m dying in this place, there has to be more.” She gripped Celeste’s hand, “Let’s leave, you can sail, I can sew, we can find work somewhere. We can be different people.”

Something like hope coursed through Celeste’s body as she held her sister close, this was the way out she realized. They could go to the mainland, find work and make a new life for themselves. Find a place where even her past couldn’t follow.

“Yes,” Celeste whispered, the sound of fireworks exploding above them echoing out again, “let’s do it.”  
\-----------------

“He looked so ridiculous!” Celeste cackled as she threw her head back laughter escaping her lips, “I can’t believe you agreed to do that folk dance with him!” Anelisse slapped Celeste across the arm, her cheeks flaring red in embarrassment. The cool breeze from the ocean blew in off the ocean waves and caressed Celeste’s too warm skin as they made their way down the towns cliff edge, the lights and sounds of the festival still in full swing behind them.

“You’re impossible!” Anelisse hissed, though her amusement was clearly heard in her voice, “What else was I supposed to do? Tell the old codger no?”

“I think it was a better alternative than to have ended up under him like that when he lost his balance trying to lift you like that,” Celeste’s cackling had subsided into soft giggles, a lightness blooming inside her that she hadn’t felt in a long time, “at least he apologized, profusely.”

Anelisse shuddered, “Oh he was so sweaty and stinky! The whole square was in fits about it, I’ll never live this one down.”

“No,” Celeste chuckled, folding her arms behind her head and looking up at the night sky, “No you won’t.” The moon was only a small sliver in the night sky, the stars around it shining brightly in their silvery hues, twinkling as though some answer to a long sought-after question.

“Why do you always look like that?” Anelisse inquired, watching her sister with raised brows.

“Like what?” Celeste replied, her eyes still cast upwards towards the night sky, watching as a single shooting star tore across its vast depth.

“Like you’re a part of it,” Anelisse said, then rephrased, “like you’re home. When you look at the stars your face, it always softens.” The soft breeze billowed around the girls, sending their skirts dancing in the wind. The tang of the ocean on their lips.

“It’s…complicated,” Celeste dropped her arms from behind her head and turned to face Anelisse, violet eyes hooded. A million thoughts tore through her skull, the truth she’d so carefully hid scratching beneath the surface seeking a way free. What if she could confide in her sister? let someone know who and what she was—she took a deep breath, “Anelisse,” she paused for a moment, “there’s something I need to tell you-”

Celeste heard the plummet, the tearing of wind against cloth, the tiny feminine yelp, and the splash before the blood curdling scream of fear tore through the air. It jolted Anelisse and sent a frenzy of chills up Celeste’s arm. Celeste stole one glance at Anelisse and, without thought or reason, raced towards the source of the scream.

Panic danced at the edges of her mind as she raced down along the jagged edge of the cliffs, quickly outpacing her sister as she tore like a dark wind towards the source of the scream. Said source that of which was coming from near where the pewter cliffs gazed out upon the ocean’s surface and where the local children liked to throw wishing stones on the eve of festivals.

The energy around Celeste buzzed like lightning, the tug of an invisible bond sending her hurtling for the source of whatever had just transpired.

Sliding on slick surface of the cliffs, Celeste found Layla, Marrien and James mother, crying and shouting towards the dark waters below, her pale feature’s twisted in fear as she waved her hands frantically at the sheer cliff drop off, her son tucked closely into her side his soft brown eyes wide with fear. It took only moments for Celeste to piece together what had transpired.

“Please,” Layla bellowed, her voice choking on the tears streaming down her face and throat, “She can’t swim! Marrien can’t swim! MARRIEN.”

Celeste, ripping her feet free from her newly crafted boot and tossing them aimlessly to the side, took two long strides to the cliffs edge before pushing herself off in one smooth motion and diving into the swirling waters below.

The water hit her like a ton of bricks, it’s icy touch sending a shudder through even her immortal body. For a moment her body froze, the memories of being tossed into equally freezing waters all those years ago rising to haunt her. She thrashed her head, willing the rising fear and panic to cease, now wasn’t the time. Later, she placated herself, you can deal with this later.

With quick kicks she descended into the battering waves, looking, searching for any sign of the missing child. Yet even with her gifted fae vision she could see nothing but the tousling waters, cold, dark and murky.

Her lungs began to burn after several minutes and she was forced to return to the surface to refill her depleted oxygen. She broke the waves for only a second, the bitter cries of the mother and brother echoing into the dark night, now accompanied by the cries of Anelisse. Celeste took in another lungful of air and dove deep beneath the waves, willing the child to appear.

She searched for several long critical minutes, returning to the surface twice to refill her lungs, before she felt the tug, that invisible thread yank suddenly and desperately from deeper in the waters. Without consideration she began swimming towards the tug, letting it lead her deeper and deeper into the rolling waves.

The cool tendrils of the dark waters wrapped around her limbs, their songs lulling and melodic willing her to them. Willing her to pull in only a small breath, since her lungs burned oh so fiercely, willing her to flow with the waves, to allow them to drag her and her heavy soaked dress down. She shoved the voices away, willing their insistent ramblings to cease.

Just as her hope was beginning to fade and her lungs feeling as though they were going to burst, Celeste’s eyes caught on a fleck of red and knew she had found her missing target. Her dress caught on a jagged rock, Marrien’s body floated lifelessly in the waves, her small pale arms floating listlessly around her.

Gripping the child against her body, Celeste braced her feet against the jagged rocks edge and tore Marrien’s dress free. Wrapping her tightly in her arms, lungs beginning to burn with such ferocity she felt she’d suffocate, Celeste shot for the surface willing her body to cleave through the waves.

She broke the surface with a loud gasp, her eyes stinging from the briny water. Marrien was completely motionless, frozen in her arms. Knowing she had no time to spare Celeste swam towards the cliffs side and gently shifted Marrien over her shoulder before digging her cold fingers into the cliffs surface and pulling herself and Marrien up with an unnatural amount of ease.

It took Celeste only moments to scale the cliffs side before clearing it and lowering the too still Marrien to the ground, her icy body swollen.

Layla was at her daughter’s side in an instant, shoving herself rudely between Celeste and Marrien as she began to run her fingers over her daughters motionless and lifeless face. Anelisse was at Celeste’s side instantly, her warm hands gripping her sister’s cold arms tightly.

“No,” Layla choked, her shoulders beginning to shake, “she’s not breathing, she’s not breathing! She’s gone—by the mother.” Celeste, panic and adrenaline coursing through her system as she realized no life remained in the child, pushed Layla away and began working with the young girl, willing life back into her.

She shoved her soaked hair over a shoulder, vaguely aware of the crowd that had gathered and were watching with wide eyes, before assessing the child, thinking, willing some solution to come to forefront of her mind.

A lesson, one taught to her long ago, came to light in her mind as she parted the young girl’s lips and forced air inside. She was met with the briny taste of salt water as it pooled from the young girl’s lips, she immediately drew in another breath and tried again. For several long minutes she worked with the child, but she remained lifeless on the ground, the life having already fled the body.

A small broken whimper escaped James, the young boy’s lips, as he clung to his mother skirt and watched the young fae woman try and fail to revive his limp sister.  
  
Frustration coursed through Celeste as she lowered her head above the child, silent tears leaking from her eyes, the tears falling on Marrien’s already soaked chest, failure clanging through her. The crowd had grown at this point, murmurs echoing around her, whispers and horrified gasps. Opening her eyes Celeste looked at Marrien's face, the small sweet round cheeks that so often held kind smiles for her swollen and frozen.

It was too much.

Placing a hand on Marriens arm, intent on folding the sweet girl’s arms over her chest, Celeste felt the invisible bond go taunt, hitching the breath in her throat. The world around her slowed, the murmurs of the crowd fading into silence behind her as that pit, that endless pit that she hid away so long ago pried itself open. Tendrils of power began to seep out, upwards and through her finger tips, the caress of magic dancing through her veins.

\--------------------  
  
_A flash of green fields and warm sun consumed Celeste, her soul flying what felt as a million miles away. Glancing around she saw a field of flowers and a beautiful woman, swathed in a white dress, smile at her sweetly and reaching out for her._

_“You’ve returned,” the woman cooed, “how I’ve missed seeing your face my sweet lily.” The woman stepped forward, her face hard to discern behind the tendrils of dark hair, “It seems this game is not yet finished._

\--------------------  
  
Celeste snapped back into her body instantly, just in time to hear the collective gasp as Marrien’s small dead form convulsed, like a fish thrown onto land, before a shuddering breath wracked through her lungs and life once again bled into her.

Her cold frozen skin flooded with color as Celeste heard Marrien’s heart jump to life in her chest, like a panicked hummingbird taking flight. Ice and relief flooded Celeste as she fell back on her heels, her soaked dress landing with a squish in the sand.

Marrien’s hazel green eyes fluttered open, something like confusion there as a piercing wail tore through the night from Layla.

“Celeste,” Marrien questioned, her little hand immediately fluttering up to her raw throat, “What happened?” Celeste looked at the small girl with sad eyes before James was upon his sister, tears streaming down his face. Sobbing he buried his face into his sisters-soaked chest. Layla followed soon after and Celeste sat there and watched as the small family held themselves together.

The impossible having just occurred.

Anelisse kneeled next to Celeste, her skin pallid and she looked on with utter shock. “Celeste, how did you do that?”

Celeste said nothing.

“Impossible,” Celeste heard the hiss, the deep baritone of Lukas from the crowd, “Witchcraft. That was witchcraft.”

 _Idiot_ , Celeste thought numbly, too tired and disoriented to even bother barking a reply at the foolish man, _you really know next to nothing about fae._

Pain suddenly tore through her skull and she hissed, pressing a palm onto her temple. Anelisse’s hands were on her immediately. Celeste wasn’t sure what happened next, the pain blurring the details, but she had the sensation of someone dragging her upright, Adder she soon realized as she felt the man’s arm come around her waist supporting and the soft touches of Martha’s hands smoothing her hair from her face.

“—take her home.” Her ears finally tuning into the sound around her, “We’ll go with you.” Celeste felt the sensation of her legs moving, of walking as they made their way away from the silent crowd, their eyes boring holes into the back of her skull.

She glanced back over her shoulder, one final look and took into the thankful stare of Layla, her blue eyes still wide in disbelief, and the look of utter disgust on Lukas Pennington’s face, his normally tan skin awfully pale and face distorted in rage.

Too bad he hadn’t been the one who fell off the cliff.


	8. Shadows In The Garden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the comments and kudos! I hope to keep updating regularly :)

_The garden was wrapped in the pastel tones of early spring as lithe winds danced through the trees, the winds carrying the sweet scents of honeysuckle and jasmine. The tree branches rattled together creating a fluttering of leaves that sang a sweet song, the sound wrapping around the small, dark haired fae child._

_Said child sat perched in the largest oak, watching with a predator’s intent as the two figures, one the embodiment of light and the other shadow, in the garden chatted idly._

_Glancing out the corner of her eye she took in the figure next to her, a boy a few years her senior with onyx hair, cobalt eyes and a scowl to rival an angry moose. The girl’s lips upturned at the corners, the warm spring sun breaking through the branches and highlighting the small splattering of freckles across her nose as her eyes crinkled in amusement._

_“What’s the matter,” she whispered, a name familiar on her tongue trying to come forward, gently nudging the boy in the ribs, “you look like someone poured ice water down your back.”_  
  
_“This is ridiculous,” he muttered with equal quiet, his cobalt eyes flashing in the rays of light creeping through the trees canopy, “we shouldn’t be up here spying on them like this Celeste!”_

_Her name, she remembered._

_“Oh shush!”_

_A rustling of wings had both children silencing themselves, burying themselves away from sight in the branches. Peering through the leaves Celeste noticed that winged man hadn’t taken notice of their presence, the shadows at his wings oblivious to the two children watching the display._

_The boy’s wards had worked._

_Delight crackled through her veins._

_They watched in silence for a several minutes, watching the winged man slowly inch his way towards the shorter caramel eyed woman, her lips pulled up in a sweet smile, watched as he slowly reached a tentative scarred hand out towards the woman’s waist, her head leaning back to look up at him--_

_“Ooooo they’re gonna kiss!” Celeste chirped loudly, her small hands clapping together in amusement in front of her. At the noise the shadows at the male’s wings flared darting in a various directions and the male’s eyes widened, his face snapping immediately towards the tree. The boy slapped a hand over her mouth as a small “oops” escaped her lips._

_The man’s hazel eyes immediately narrowed and the shadows at his wings quieted, dancing as though in delight, something like amusement strumming through them._

_A sharp rustle of leaves echoed throughout the garden as the boy shoved his other hand over Celeste’s mouth, his cobalt eyes wide in panic._  
  
_“Shut up!” the boy hissed, loudly, a pulse of power rattling out of him as his wards wove around the tree once again silencing their sound and hiding their presence, “They’ll hear you.”_

_The woman, the slender lovely thing, stifled a giggled, her brows raising in amusement as she too was now looking at the tree._

_A smack._

_The boy’s hands immediately pulled away from the girls lips, as he gripped his arm where she’d slapped him none too lightly._  
  
_“Oww!” he hissed, cheeks flaring red, “Why’d you hit me?!”_  
  
_“Cause you blew our cover!” Celeste growled back, her master plan crumbling before her, “you’re the worst spy I’ve ever seen! You’re being too loud!”_  
  
_He silently moved his lips, mocking, ‘You’re being too loud’. Turning her attention back to the figures Celeste found that only the woman remained--_  
  
_“Kids.” A deep voice rumbled, startling Celeste so violently she shot upwards, her wings, oh her wings, knocking her off balance as she went tumbling backwards, heals over her head out of the tree. Out of instinct she braced for impact, wrapping her wings around herself for protection, knowing she was too close to the ground to glide safely down-_

_She collided with strong awaiting arms instead and was met with the amused look of the shadowed fae male, one eyebrow cocked upwards. His face up close was very handsome, and so very familiar, as were the shadows at his wings, the shadows that nearly sang in greeting to her._

_A name, forgotten, tried to come to life in her mind._  
  
_“Hey,” She chirped, her arms crossing over her chest as she offered him a bright lopsided grin, her two bottom baby teeth missing, “Good catch! I didn’t realize you were out here. We were just playing tag.”_

 _A bemused spark darted through the stone faced man’s eyes, “Tag?” he inquired looking up into the tree where the boy sat, his jaw slack and hand still outstretched where he’d tried to catch her from her tumble, “in a tree?”_  
  
_“Mmmhmm,” Celeste nodded her head vigorously, her black hair clinging to the static off the man’s shirt, he felt so safe and so warm, “Yep. It’s a new kind of tag, see you sit in the tree and count to like a bazillion and then the first person who falls out of the tree is it.”_

 _A pause of silence._  
  
_“You’re so full of it Celeste,” the boy grumbled from above, earning a heated glare from said girl, “It was completely her idea. I told her we shouldn’t have been up here spying on you and ______, I shouldn’t have set up wards—”_

_What name? What name had the boy said?_

_“You set up wards?” the man inquired, brow raising to meet his hairline._

_“Urghh!” Celeste hissed, flailing her arms up at the boy, violet eyes narrowing, “You’re not supposed to give information to the target! Now you’ve gone and completely destroyed our assassination attempt.”_  
  
_“Assassination attempt?” The woman repeated, her brown eyes wide as she came around the large base of the oak her lavender gown billowing in the breeze. She bit her lip to hide the smile._

_Celeste stuck out her tongue at the boy above her, her eyes squinting as she made flubbing noises up at him, shoving her fingers in her ears to taunt him. The fear that had been in the boy’s face immediately melted away to irritation, his dark cobalt eyes narrowing._

_“Uh oh,” Celeste chirped and immediately rolled out of the man’s arms, landing on her feet her wings straightening behind her to give her balance, “Sorry! Gotta go!” Giving a quick salute she shot off through the garden as she heard the tell-tell poof of the boy disappearing into shadow. Cheater, she thought scanning out the corner of her eyes looking for him._

_There, he appeared on her left, poised to tackle her. They both went rolling as his body collided with her own, end over end, and crashed into a smaller oak tree behind the house. The tree shuddered beneath the impact and sent a nest tumbling out of it, landing with a wet crunch and alarmed squeaks._

_Celeste shared one look with the boy before they both peeled themselves off the ground, covered in grass and dirt, and hurried to the fallen nest. With small, gentle hands, Celeste flipped the nest over and was met with the site of several terrified baby robins crying out huddling together._

_“Are they okay?” The boy asked, his little hands glazing over the terrified birds as guilt filling his cobalt eyes, “I didn’t me to knock their nest down- “_  
  
_Celeste’s eyes had locked onto one little robin, not moving and its neck twisted at an odd angle._

_A well of darkness opened in her chest, déjà vu settling over her like a veil._

_She swallowed hard._

_A burning sorrow tore through her, stomach knotting in fear._

_“No, Celeste,” the boy mumbled, sinking next to her, silver beginning to line his eyes, his hands still gently covering the other terrified robin hatchlings, “We didn’t mean too—that poor baby bird.”_

_Celeste gently rubbed the baby bird, willing it to wake up. Nothing happened. She tried again and again until she felt warm tears trickling down her cheek. This had been all her fault. Pulling the bird to her chest she let out a sob as she willed the small thing to wake up._

_Something pulled at Celeste._

_A tug._

_A warmth suddenly surrounded her, easing her sorrow and coaxing her, coaxing her to try._

_Try what? She thought, clutching the bird close. Just try, the warmth seemed to coo, a sudden tingling beginning in her stomach. Everything around her seemed to stand still for a minute as she wished, wished with all of her being, willed the baby bird to wait up a warmth, like nothing she’d ever felt, pooling in her stomach—_

_A gasp, from the boy._

_“It’s alive.”_  
  
_Celeste peeled an eye open and saw that indeed the baby bird had sprung back to life, it’s little wings beating frantically in Celeste’s hands, fear coating its scent as it reoriented itself, it’s neck no longer twisted._

_A smile took over her face, it was okay._

_Turning towards the boy she saw that his face had gone pale, eyes wide. He stared at the bird before turning his gaze back to hers, something like fear dancing there._

_Why was he scared of her? Had she done something wrong?_

_Why was she so upset that the boy feared her? WHO was the boy?_  
  
_“_____?” Celeste questioned, a name she couldn’t quiet speak, tumbling from her mouth. She was so concerned at the sudden look the boy had given her. She saw his lips begin to move but couldn’t hear him._  
  
_“_______ please,” She begged, feeling suddenly lightheaded and panicked, like a wild animal shoved suddenly and violently into a cage. She felt her heart thunder in her chest, a cold sweat overtaking her body._

_Scared, she was so terrified-_

_She shot to her feet, the baby bird left at the base of the tree, crying out for its nest mates, as she stumbled forward, fear beginning to course through her._

_What was wrong with her?_

_“Momma?” Celeste murmured, the flashes of a golden-haired woman coursing through her mind, a golden-haired woman who looked so much like the one near the shadows--“Papa?” the scent of citrus and the warmth of home--she felt as though the world was tearing apart around her-_

_A sharp pain bit through her skull as she stumbled off towards the house, she needed something, anything to make this stop. Where was she? Who was she? The world was beginning to grow fuzzy around the edges, blackness blotting the things around her out._  
  
_She stumbled into silky lavender and soft hands. Glancing up she took in the concerned caramel eyes, fear clearly written across that beautiful face as the woman’s lips moved frantically, calling someone? The man with the shadows?_  
  
_“Please,” Celeste begged, feeling the world fall away underneath her “I don’t know what happened, please- “_

_Cool hands were on her face instantly and she was met with those hazel eyes again, always so calm and stable she recalled, filled this time with fear and his lips moved. She shook her head, the dizziness growing worse, the fear spread as his eyes widened, she couldn’t hear anything—_

_He couldn’t save her. No one could._

_Power rippled behind her, the skies darkened around her, the two beautiful strangers dissipating into fine dust carried away into the air. She knew what awaited her when she turned, she willed her legs to stay still, her head not to twist and turn to face what stood behind her._

_Against her will her gaze was turned behind where she was met with dark monstrous legs, those of a monster, the one she feared most. Lightning shattered the skies she felt her breath hitch in her throat, dread snaking down her spine._

_She felt herself glance up, felt her eyes lock onto_ that face _, if one could call it a face._

_The comfort she had felt snuffed out inside of her and was replaced with icy tendrils of fear, pure horror that tore through her in torrents. She watched that clawed hand reach down and run through her hair, the dizziness building to unbearable levels._

_The clawed hand reach from her hair and grabbed her shoulder and yanked her around, exposing her wings to it—_

_She couldn’t contain it, the thrumming of power building--an earth shattering shriek ripped free from her lips-_  
  
\-----------------------

Celeste jolted upright immediately, sweat drenching her.  
  
The second her body was awake coughing seized her, rattling her body violently against the mast that was beginning to chafe horribly at her back.

She fought to orient her thoughts, bring some meaning some semblance to what she’d seen. For the life of her she couldn’t place the names to the faces, the faces to a place.

She squinted her eyes and hissed, willing some recollection of who they were to her mind. The dreams faded so quickly when she woke that she often lost most of it, everything before waking becoming a blur.It had always been like this.She had some very clear memories; places, sites, smells and sounds but the rest blurred. 

She leaned forward heavily, the chain still taut across her abdomen, her body shivering. That dream, nightmare, had seized her countless times since saving Marrien, since everything had gone to absolute shit.

Adder and Martha had taken her and Anelisse home that night, laying her down on her makeshift bed, where she had slept for days. The dreams had all been as relentless, full of things both so horrifying and lovely and wasn’t sure where memory ended, and fantasy began.

She’d only been awake half a morning before the men had stormed the cottage, armed to the teeth with ash arrows, spikes and these damned chains. She hadn’t even heard their approach when Anidre had gone to the door after a small knock and let them in, wolves led into the den of disabled and weak prey.

Anidre had only watched with cool disinterest as she allowed them to pin her, kicking, clawing and screaming, and chain her to that damned ash board before stating that it had to be done and there was no other option.

As for Anelisse, Celeste hadn’t even given her a moment to consider fighting back when she’d screamed at her to run as fast as should could, especially after Anidre had announced that Lukas would soon be her future son in law. Anelisse had bolted for the back door and had only glanced back once, eyes wild, onto Celeste who had managed to ground two of the larger men, their blood pooling on her pile of blankets.

It took them several minutes before they’d managed to pin her down completely, several rough blows being delivered to her torso and face to keep her from tearing out their throats as they’d looped those chains around her body binding her and drove the ash spikes into her limbs.

She’d cried out in anger as Anidre had watched, swearing against the woman who had sold her own daughter into an arranged marriage all for the pursuit of the damned fae lands. Celeste had hissed her hope that the first fae Anidre encountered would show her exactly how deadly her kind could be.

It had been unnecessary.

As they’d lifted her to leave, her energy spent and chest heaving, Anidre had stepped forward demanding her part of the payment. The biggest grunt had only laughed before putting a bolt through her chest. Crimson had bloomed at her bosom, staining her yellow dress, her mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for breath before she’d collapsed to the floor.

Dead.

Celeste, too shocked to react, had only stared in horror as sick satisfied chuckles resounded throughout the group of men as the woman bled out on the floor, coating her blankets and Anelisse’s paintings, so carefully stacked against the wall, in that same crimson.

It strummed up some dark memory in her.

Straining against her bonds Celeste prayed to the mother, to any deity listening that Anelisse had avoided Lukas and managed to get out of Vanica, even if she knew the likelihood of that was nearly zero.

Too exhausted and drained to fight further Celeste allowed them to parade her down through the town square, bound to a board like a pig on a spit, and watched as those who had shown her such contempt gloat over her removal.

Like an infection cut from a wound, now clean so that it could heal. She wouldn’t let them see here cry, even as the hatred dug deep inside of her.

She was relieved to see that Martha, Adder, Pennelope and her husband, as well as Marrien’s family’s faces were not amongst that crowd.

She thought of Marrien, of her sweet round face and delightful laughter.

At least she had managed to save something.

She hung her head and finally let a few small tears trickle down her face as she felt the gentle rocking of the boat, almost like a mother rocking her child to sleep. How was she even going to get out this one? How was she even going to get back to Anelisse? Would there be anything to go back to?

Part of her wished she’d just died that night on that beach.

 


	9. Off We Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi All! I was waiting until I was able to read ACOFAS before publishing this to make sure things were still aligned with the canon universe, which I'm happy to say they are. I'm glad Sara brought up the potential of an illyrian rebellion because it plays nicely into my own head canon's for this story. Anyway without further ado here's the next chapter.

Celeste’s crying spell was cut short when she heard the wooden door above creak open, it’s old hinge crying out with age and anguish as it swung inward.

Her eyes burned as she forced her tears down, refusing to let that bastardous fae male who’d been watching over her see her cry. She’d be damned if she’d show him any weakness.    
  
As if summoning him, she heard the light footfalls of his boots as he descended the last of the stairs, his dusty hair catching in the gaslight as he approached her, cat like eyes glancing over her as they always did, lingering.  His nostrils flared slightly before his up tilted gaze cut away and upward, locking with her own.

He gave her an adders grin.  
  
“Glad to see you’re awake,” he cooed, running a gloved hand through his tresses, ruffling the already mused waves, “how are you?”  
  
Celeste growled, low and warning.

“What do you want?” She hissed, tugging at her chains against her screaming shoulder joints, the pain nearly beyond bearable at this point, “Come to taunt me some more before disposing of me? Come closer and I’ll show you how it’s done.”

He clicked his tongue in distaste, dismissing her.

“You’re not very scary when I can clearly smell the tears on you, you know.” He picked at non-existent lint on his shoulder,” You’re going to have to try harder than that to if you want to convince me of anything.”

Cocky son of a bitch.

“See there’s the problem,” he continued smoothly, his hands beginning to dig in the pocket of his long brown jacket, searching, “you’re always on about the threats. See maybe if you’d be nice I wouldn’t have to be so rough with you--I’d venture we could almost be friends if you’d just be a bit more civil.”

Celeste denied giving a response.

“Oh, suddenly quiet, are you?” His rummaging stopped as he quirked a ridiculously perfect sculpted brow at her, his gaze flickering to her chained arms only momentarily, “Well perhaps you’ll be more tolerable this way-”  
  
“You’re a bastard,” Celeste spat, her eyes, narrowing, her damnable temper flaring, “working with these piss ants, destroying the lives of innocent people and for what? Glory? Money? What are they promising you?”

The man only shook his head and pulled out a soft tan lump and shoved it into Celeste’s face.

The smell hit her, and confusion coursed through her as her stomach turned over and groaned, her hunger having been ignored up to this point.

The fool was offering her bread.

“I don’t think we disrupted a very charming life if that little hovel you resided in was any indication,” he waved the bread in front of her face, she did not take it, “not to mention that lovely human woman did a fine job of selling you off for a satchel full of copper. I’d say you were at least a few silvers if for no other reason than you’re not too awful on the eyes.”   
  
Dark green energy suddenly tore from his empty hand, filling the room with the smell of rain saturated winds. The magic was startling, Celeste watched in awe as the green eddied in his hands, she hadn’t seen magic in years.

The bands of energy twirled before lashing out and snapping the chains at her waists and wrists and sent her tumbling forward, her body stiff and useless from being strung up for so long. The simpering fool caught her with a surprising amount of gentleness.

“See? That’s better.” He assured, his gloved hands supporting her worthless body.  Her muscles screamed in relief at the pressure on her joints being suddenly relieved. With nimble fingers he plucked up her forearm before she could protest, examining the ugly welts where the ash splinters were imbedded deep, “These will need to be dealt with.”

She drew her hand back, quick as a viper, intent on hitting the bastard square in the nose as pay back for all his taunting when he shoved the piece of bread in her mouth, the whole thing, halting her assault.

“Eat that,” he said looking over his shoulder, his mossy eyes scanning as though he were counting, working out the details of a pattern, “you’re going to need all the strength you can get when we get out of here.”

She blinked, dumbstruck as she tried to process what exactly had just happened, the bread sitting idly in her mouth.

“Don’t tell me you’re such an invalid you don’t know how to chew.” 

She seriously contemplated spitting the grainy goodness in his face.

His eyes narrowed as he pieced together what she was contemplating, “Don’t.” He warned, one finger coming up to point at her.

“You’re fucking kidding,” she said after swallowing the mouthful of bread, finally having decided to chew on the mass and not to spit it in the males face, violet eyes narrowing, “and you expect me to trust you?”  
  
“You don’t really have a choice darling,” without warning the male grabbed her arm again and in one painful motion grabbed the largest of the embedded ash splinters and yanked it out.

Celeste barely stifled the scream as the ash tore free from her arm. The male quickly scooped up her other arm and repeated the same motion, this time earning a curse that would have made even the worst sailor blush. He worked quickly removing the wooden bits from her arms before kneeling and pulling the largest out of her calves.

She was near tears of agony by the time he finished, flicking her blood off the jagged edges.

“Not the prettiest method,” he clicked his tongue as he held up the bloody splinter in a gloved hand, his eyes narrowing it disgust before tossing it to the side and rising back to his full height, “but we’re not exactly working under ideal conditions- “

Celeste’s temper and patience snapped.

With brutal efficiency she slammed her face into the blonde males earning a disgruntled _oof_ as he fell backwards, a satisfying crack echoing around them from his pert nose.

“You’re a prick,” she hissed, yanking her hands free of the blasted iron shackles, the iron bending like paper beneath her grip without the ash splinters weakening her, the blood already staunching at her wrists and ankles were the cursed wood had finally been removed, “I should shove those splinters into your eyes as retribution.”

“Ouch, feisty little thing,” he muttered from behind his hand now gripping his bleeding nose, his feline eyes narrowing into something like amusement, “I’m glad to see you’ve not the simpering little thing the crew made you out to be, I was a bit concerned.”

Celeste’s eyes shot daggers at him. “Why are you helping me?”   
  
His only response was to hold his hands up in surrender, his nose still trickling blood.

A temporary offer of peace.

“Answer the damn question.” She seethed at him, jaw locking, she wasn’t going to let him get away without an explanation.   
  
“We’ve got approximately seven minutes to get up there, get on one of the small evacuation boats and row the hell away before the guards pass on their next rounds,” he replied, cocking his head, “so we’d best go, unless you’d like to waste that time on an explanation that still wouldn’t please you.”  
  
She crossed her arms over her chest, waiting.  
  
“I want to help my own kind,” he finally relented, though Celeste could taste the lie as it came off his tongue, “Closer to six minutes now.”

Celeste released a sigh through her nose, having no other options but to trust the dreadful male who’d be watching over her while she’d be strung up. She glanced down at her hands, curling them into fists, she’d have to make do with what she had.

She had to get back to Anelisse.   
  
“Then at least tell me your name.” Celeste stated coolly, smoothing her dark locks backwards and glancing around her assessing.

“Bit demanding of you considering the situation you’re in,” the man replied lifting his brows then wincing as they pulled on his bloodied nose, “and given that you’ve manhandled your savior.”  
  
“Name,” Celeste repeated giving him a level stare that would have had a lesser male running, “or I start screaming bloody murder and we’ll see how the crew likes their little guard betraying them.”  
  
“Gandriel,” he replied, though she doubted her took her threat seriously as his brows lifted in amusement, his knowledge of her bluff written wholly across his face, he knew she wouldn’t risk screaming, “does that please you now girl?”

His arrogance was smothering.   
  
“Yes.” She stalked past him on silent feet, the ache from her injuries fading and energy flooding her. She was intent on getting off the damned boat and contemplated the joy she’d have from ripping Lukas Pennington’s guts from him.

\--------------------------

They crept up the stairs quietly, Gandiriel leading the way his gloved hands pulling Celeste by the sleeve of her dress, like some child who needed their hand held. Celeste dug her teeth into her lip, trying to prevent her temper from flaring.

Again.

“It’s clear,” he muttered as he pulled her forward, through the doorway and directing her to the right, “move quickly and watch your step there’s rope everywhere and be mindful to not fall over the edge, I’d hate for you to drown.”

“I know my way around a boat,” she hissed in response, his hand still encompassing her wrist as his eyes scanned the boat around them, no one in sight and only soft ocean breeze offering them company, she eyed his gloved hand around her wrist and contemplated biting it, “let go.”

“Not a chance,” he replied with a purr, pulling her along, “you haven’t earned my trust yet either, how do I know you won’t bolt the second I let you go?”  
  
Celeste suppressed an eyeroll.

The moon shone brightly above, beginning to wane and the stars twinkled around it oblivious to the attempted escape below.  Celeste might have considered it a lovely night to sail with the moon bright above them under other circumstances.

In a series of quick strides, they made it to the edge of the boat, it’s rocking a lull in the background. Glancing over Celeste saw the small array of dinghy’s strung across it’s side, small but easy to maneuver.

She’d spent her own fair amount of time piloting such small vessels when untangling nets on the Maidens Pearl when she sailed with the fisherman in Vania and had no doubt that she could easy maneuver these with expertise.

Gandriel clicked his tongue as he eyed the largest boat, strung up at the end of the row, equipped with a small sail and designed for rapid travel if the need were to arise.   
  
“We take that one.” He quipped matter-of-factly and began to pull Celeste along behind him. Stepping quietly, she followed on nimble feet and nearly lost her balance when Gandriel went tumbling forward a with a yelp of “shit” escaping his lips.

Gandriel had gone tumbling over a pile of rope and a sleeping sailor who had fell into slumber against said pile. The sailor let out a loud grunt as he shook himself awake, the large fae male sprawled across him squishing him.

“Maria?” the man asked, his voice slurred from his obvious state of intoxication, brown eyes narrowing as he squinted his vision at Celeste standing behind the grounded male, “Maria have you come back to me-”  
  
Gandriel’s fist slammed into the man’s jaw sending him into unconsciousness as he slumped backwards on his lump of ropes.  
  
Celeste couldn’t help the snort that escaped.

“Not a word from you girl,” Gandriel growled as he stood up, his pride clearly wounded, “Keep your mouth shut or I’ll throw you off the boat.”  
  
“Are you certain you won’t just go tumbling off yourself?”  

He only glared.

However, the sound of his curse resounding across the boat and the thump of his fist against the sailor’s face had earned a series of alarmed shouts in response.

And he was worried about HER giving their position away.

“What was that?” She heard the cry of one of the sailors across the boat and froze, her eyes locking with the Gandriel’s before he muttered a curse and wrapped his hand around her wrist and bolted for the end of the boat where the large dingy was strung.

Glancing over the edge of the ship they both jumped at the same time just as lanterns flared to light on the boat, sailors beginning to prowl and see what the disturbance was.  
  
They both plunged towards the little row boat landing with a resounding thud. Those tendrils of green energy sparked to life again and tore through the ropes suspending the boat sending them plummeting towards the water below.

The shouts of alarm from above ringing out into the night.

“What happened to being subtle,” Celeste inquired her black brows knotting at the center of her forehead as she watched the men scramble above her.  
  
“Not another word,” Gandriel hissed, his pride his biggest wound from his tumble. This had turned into a joke. All of it.  


Without warning the wind began blaring from the east shoving the little boat and filling its sail racing away from the ship. Storm clouds began to bloom overhead thunder crackling.  
  
Celeste looked at Gandriel with surprise before turning and watching as the lapping waves began rocking the large ship furiously back and forth, the shouts of surprise of the men ringing out into the night.

“Storm magic,” Gandriel supplied with a nonchalant shrug, glancing skywards, “it’s never failed me.”  
  
Celeste watched as the slave trade boat began to capsize, the men hurrying to and fro trying to stop the inevitable as the ship began to bow against the waves beating against its side.

She gave no response as the mast of the ship cracked down its center when lightning struck it, sending the mast tumbling to the side, the ropes and twine holding the sails snapping like bands wound to tightly, twanging as they all broke loose.

A tiny hurricane had formed, centered around the slave ship, that didn’t even disturb the water a hundred feet outside of it’s radius. The power was breathtaking in it’s intensity and Celeste felt gaze in awe as she watched the magic tear the ship asunder.  
  
Gandriel glanced at her with a look of pride out of the corner of his eye, his arms crossed over his puffed-up chest, waiting for the compliment he was certain she would give him.

 She quirked a brow.

“You still tripped over the rope.”

His chest immediately deflated.  
  
“I said that was enough.”

 

 

 


	10. Where Curses Begin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter! Hope you enjoy! :)

The sunlight reflected blindingly off the seawaters sapphire surface, scattering rays of white gold across the small boats sail and creating beautiful intricate geometric patterns that swayed in time with the rocking of the dancing waters beneath. The waves lapped lazily, almost playfully, against the side of the small ship, the breeze billowing in the sail sending the boats less than pleased occupants flying across the vast expanse of blue that stretched for miles in all directions.

“One reason,” Celeste hissed, pressing Gandriel against the side of the dinghy, the sweat gleaming on her brow as the heat beat down on her from overhead, the temperature near stifling in the midmorning sun, “One reason why I shouldn’t throw you overboard.”

Their temporary peace had come to a resounding halt once they’d cleared the wreckage of the slave ship, known as the Queens Dame if Gandriel was to be believed, and they were now here, battle lines clearly drawn.

Gandriel had refused to take her back to Vanica to find Anelisse. Had demanded that she help him find some obscure object that was only rumored to exist and that she owed to him. Had told her she belonged to him now and would do as she was told.

He was rapidly learning that Celeste didn’t take well to demands of any nature.

Especially egotistical men.

“Now, now,” he said swallowing nervously, backtracking from his previous demands, his golden-green eyes glancing to and fro. His long brown jacket had long since been abandoned in the heat revealing a sweat drenched white shirt and a chiseled form beneath-- “There’s no need to be unreasonable like this. I did save you after all-“

“Saved me?!” Celeste roared, digging her nails into Gandriel’s shirt and skin harder, willing blood to pool beneath her fingers from the infuriating jackass who was pinned underneath her, “Saved? YOU literally helped a group of slave traders steal me from my home and SISTER and then have the audacity to call yourself my savior?”

Taking advantage of Celeste’s rage Gandriel slipped a foot behind Celeste’s ankle and shoved backwards, effectively unpinning himself. He, however, had not accounted for Celeste’s fingers still clinging tightly to his shirt as she pulled him backwards with her, dangerously rocking the boat, sending it off kilter and water splashing over into its base, soaking its occupants.

“Oh I don’t think so,” Celeste murmured rolling and she drug Gandriel under her, pinning him with her knees. Pulling a fist back she threw her arm forward and smashed her fist painfully into the blonde males face, blood spurting as his lip split in two.

That was now two injuries she had bestowed upon the fae male.

Throwing his face to the side, blood gushing from his lip, Gandriel looped his knees around the back of Celeste’s legs before rolling her over onto her back with an umpf as he pinned her, blood trickling down his chin.

“That’s enough,” he demanded, feline eyes narrowing as he snarled, pinning Celeste’s arms above her head, his grip somehow loose enough that it didn’t dig into her still sore limbs but still kept her securely pinned, “Why are you such a stubborn ass?!”

Did he think her so weak that her his limp grasp could hold her?

“I’ll show you stubborn ass,” She ground out, pushing her forearms up, shoving against his pinning position. Realizing she couldn’t get loose she slipped her knee between his legs before thrusting it upwards, with excessive force.

A moan of pain escaped his lips as he immediately let go of Celeste’s wrists, giving her the opportunity to wriggle loose and scuttle across the boat towards the sail, fulling intending on guiding the boat herself and sailing herself south, back to Vanica and her sister, not west towards some uninhabited island that supposedly held some lost treasure and fortune.

Something that only she could find, he’d claimed so confidently, that her power would be able to reach out and find.

What lies had those slave traders fed him?

“Not a chance,” Gandriel barked before tackling Celeste from behind, her body slamming painfully into the wooden seat below, his much larger mass laying on top of her pinning her while her arm remained outstretched, reaching for the ropes to the sail only lying inches away, “You’re going to help me and you’re going to like it.”

To hell with it, Celeste conceded in her mind, she could drown him then take the boat on her own to go get Anelisse and if she drowned with him, well that was one less miserable person the world had to deal with.

With strength that even surprised herself Celeste jerked herself upwards, tilting the boat and sloshing water, and out of his grasps. With lithe motions she turned and dove forward hands aimed for Gandriel’s throat. Gandriel easily dodged and scrambled to the side Celeste following close after.

Throwing themselves violently they felt the boat rock one last hazardous time before tipping just a little too far and inevitably flipping, sending both occupants into the lapping waves beneath them.

Celeste surfaced first, eyes narrowed into angry slits and she pulled herself up on the side of the capsized boat, nails digging into the wooden surface, “I’m going to kill you, slowly.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Gandriel replied sending Celeste a warning look, his hands laying flat on the bottom of the capsized boat his position across from her on the side, safety out of distance of her fists, his wet hair clinging to his face and neck, “who’s going to benefit if you do that?”

They glared at one another, silence permeating the air except for the gentle lapping of waves.

“You help me,” Gandriel replied, swallowing hard as he watched her like she was a wild beast needing coaxing, looking like a male who had clearly bitten off way more than he could chew, “and I will help you get your sister back, I swear it.”

“Why should I trust you?” She hissed, her fingers digging divots into the bottom of the boat, curling strips of wood as she drug her nails down. Her grip was strong enough that she had enough leverage to launch herself over the capsized vessel and effectively land on the pretensions ass before her, before dragging him beneath the surface and drowning him.

“You don’t really have any other options do you?” He gestured to the endless sea around them his blonde hair clinging to his face and neck, “we’re in the middle of the ocean and last I checked I was the only one who had any magic that could even get this boat moving quickly enough to avoid starvation or succumbing to the elements.”

“You don’t own me,” She stated, the wood screeching beneath her nails as she dug out more rivets, “You don’t give me orders. I help you find this damned item you so desperately need and then YOU take me back to Vanica and help me find my sister. Understood?”

“One thing,” Gandriel drew, his lips puckering in that way that Celeste knew he was about spout something entirely aimed at pissing her off, sliding conveniently down the length of the boat out of Celeste’s reach, “your chest looks fantastic in that wet fabric.”

Celeste bellowed like a hell hound.  
______________________

A day later Gandriel sat in the boat, sporting a new black eye in addition to his split lip and bloodied nose as he watched Celeste pull the sails to and fro, navigating the boat with an expertise he likely hadn’t suspected of her.

“I wasn’t aware you could sail.” He chimed, pulling his crossed legs closer to him, his boots abandoned at the end of the boot to dry, making another failed attempt to strike up conversation with Celeste as he had for the last day that they’d spent on the water together after they’d struck up another temporary truce. She had silently ignored most of his attempts but deigned to reply.

“I can do many things,” She explained, effectively ignoring the male as she pulled the ropes to the left, steering the boat along the path of the wind that Gandriel was steadily feeding the sail, raven tendrils whipping free from the braid she had pulled her hair into, “seeking out magical objects is not one of those talents.”

“We’ll see about that,” he replied, unconcerned, his eyes glancing skyward then out towards the darkening horizon as the sun began to dip below it, “the Captain of that ship was fairly certain you had the gift to find lost objects based on the report of that human male in Vanica so I’m willing to take my chances.”

“Your loss when it doesn’t work.” She replied smoothly, trying to prevent her mind from focusing on her sister, on the fact that she had been left to the hands of Lukas Pennington. Her skin crawled in response. She loosed a tight breath from her chest, it had been two weeks since her capture, two weeks since Anidre’s blood had soaked through her blankets on the floor.

She gritted her teeth, the image of her adopted mother haunting in her mind. Anidre had been many things but Celeste wasn’t certain she would have wished such a damnable death on the woman. Not that it mattered any longer.

She felt the familiar tug of hunger in her stomach, more satiated that it was accustom to but still annoying as she burned her reserves of energy piloting the boat. Gandriel had not bothered to pack any supplies prior to their escape so they had been left with nothing but the clothes on their backs and a small canteen of water which they had finished hours before as they raced towards this mysterious island that Gandriel claimed held an object of immense power.

An object that supposedly would sell very well if they could claim it.

If.

The cry of gulls suddenly sounded above, and Celeste glanced up, watching as the seabirds circled to and fro. A sign that they were finally approaching land.

Gandriel whistled, pushing himself upward out of his seated position, “We’re almost there.”

Sure enough on the horizon a thin line of green had appeared, it’s surface covered in mist and the sky above the island a muted grey color where clouds hung overhead, seeming to absorb the fading light as the sun began to kiss them goodnight.

A chill raced down Celeste’s spine as she took in the island, a sinking feeling of dread raising up to meet her as she watched the stone structures begin to pop up as they approached, like grave stones shoved up from the ground, an eerie silence permeating as they grew closer. The gull’s cries muted above them, the birds having flown in the opposite direction, fleeing.

Whatever was on that island was not keen on outsiders.

“What,” Gandriel inquired, having risen from his seated position and leaning against the small mast next to Celeste, his eyes alight with amusement as the last of the sun’s rays flared the gold in his eyes to life, “getting a little spooked by some mist and storm clouds?”

Celeste shook her head.

“Those aren’t natural,” she replied matter of factly, releasing her grip on the rope opening the sail and tying it through the loop on the base of the boat, her skin beginning to prickle as the temperature dropped, something she was certain wasn’t just the effect of the fading sun, “whatever’s on that island doesn’t want visitors.”

“Well that’s most unfortunate,” Gandriel said with a devilish grin, the island rising up before them as they cleared the last few miles of ocean between them and the green land, ancient ruins finally coming into focus as the lone calls of ravens echoed in the distance, “the item is supposed to be in the base of the largest ruin, guarded by wards written by the ancient fae thousands of millennia ago.” His finger came up and pointed towards the largest looming structure, centered on the tallest hill, “and my bet is that’s the one.”

The looming stone structure made Celeste’s throat dry it’s cracked surface littered with green moss, it’s infrastructure beginning to fail it. The energy from it seeming to warn, commanding that no one approach or touch it. It felt like a living, breathing tomb.

“You’re going to have to reach out, poke around it,” Gandriel continued his eyes narrowing as he focused on the island, “see if you can find any power emanating from it. The island itself should be abandoned, it’s rumored that only ruins and the bodies of those who last inhabited it remain.”

Celeste was absolutely certain that wasn’t the case, voices beginning to call to her in the back of her mind, the way they had the night under the water when she’d dove off the cliff to rescue Marrien. Whatever dwelled here was ancient and powerful.

“Then what?” Celeste asked, the urge to whip the boat in the opposite direction and flee becoming stronger as they approached, her instincts screaming at her to run. She could make out seven dark blotches on the tower of the largest ruin, the raven’s she assumed, “and what are we do to? Knock on the door?”

“We’ll just have to walk up and say hello.” He replied with a purr, his hand patting Celeste on the shoulder as they cleared the last hundred feet to the island, the waters becoming dead beneath them, no movement and no sign of life.

Celeste cut him a dry look, her brow rising to meet her hairline and she tried to suppress the shudder than coursed through her body at the thought of having to even step foot on the island. The boat came to a slow stop as Gandriel’s wind pushed the dinghy the last few feet to the shore and stopped as the boat stuck in the sand, it’s halt a sickening groan.

The beach was simple enough, fine sand intertwined with large round pebbles that peppered the length of it, bits of shell protruding out. It was what sat above the grass overreaching the beach that left Celeste’s body quaking, the mist. It was denser than what she had detected on their approach from the ocean, it was denser, darker than she had ever seen before, more like smoke, murky.

It was entirely conscious.

A chill raced down Celeste’s spine as she watched the mist dance on the island’s edge, moving as though it had a mind of its own, beckoning. The song and cries beginning to crescendo in the back of her mind. Something was very much alive and aware here, as if calling it she felt it’s attention snap to her, the mist beginning to move down the beach, searching.

The alarm bells screaming her mind.

Whatever it was knew they were there.

“Gandriel we really sh-“

He hopped off the boat, a resounding squish echoing from his boots, having replaced them on his feet, and began walking up the length of the beach towards the encroaching mist, completely oblivious to the wrongness of it all. Every step his took left Celeste’s body screaming _wrong, wrong, wrong, trespasser, outsider, leave, wrong._

Gandriel stopped and turned to face her, his insufferable grin still painted across his now shadowed face, the last tendrils of the sun having vanished beneath the horizon, no breeze even danced as though it died the second it touched this cursed place, “Well?” He inquired dipping his head towards the ruins, less than half a mile’s hike away, “shall we?”

_For Anelisse._

And, against her better judgement, Celeste stepped off the boat.


	11. The Steppes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a slurry of updates but I've actually had a bit of downtime to write!

_“Brother!” Celeste cried out giggling, her large almond eyes crinkling as she held her hands out towards Cenric, holding a small leather-bound book, beckoning him to her, “Will you read me this story?”_

_“Of course,” Cenric replied, his cobalt eyes shining as he plucked the book from his sister’s hand replacing her empty palms with one of his own, smiling down at her, “shall we?”_

“Hands up pup!” Cassian snarled, slamming his fist none too gently into Cenric’s block, snapping Cenric instantly out the memory. Grunting Cenric felt himself skid backwards from the force, his forearms shuddering in pain from the impact. His lips curled back from his teeth in annoyance, “If you rely on that guard too much you’re going to be dead, so move!”

Cenric growled in irritation, shaking his head free of the memory, _why were they practicing now of all times?_ Pivoting on his left foot with fluid grace he carefully avoided the well place strike from Cassian’s fist. Twisting, he swung his own fist forward and connected with Cassian’s thick forearms, pain shooting down his knuckles, the wrappings doing little to negate the impact of the blow.

“Stop throwing punches like a child,” Cassian barked, his black hair swaying as he lunged to the left, his fists swinging, peppering Cenric’s defenses, “concentrate or I’ll make you.”

The general’s strength was overwhelming and he furiously landed hit after hit against Cenric, driving the boy backwards across the frozen ground, his leather clad feet digging deep into the mud as he tried to hold his position. _Shit_ , Cenric thought trying to avoid the full impact of Cassian’s blows _, focus._

_“You know,” Celeste drew, her small sweet face pulling into that infamous pucker, the one that usually ended up getting him in trouble because he could never deny what was requested after it, “you could always sneak downstairs and get me cookies before bed.” She fluttered those eyelashes, “since you love me?”_

_“Okay fine,” Cenric half-heartedly grumbled, throwing his energy out to see if his parents were still awake, “I’ll be back in just a minute, hold tight.”_  
  
 With an unexpected twist Cassian roundhouse kicked Cenric, pulverizing his jaw and causing his neck to snap to the left, effectively breaking his guard and sending him tumbling backwards.  

Cenric hit the ground with a loud thump, his entire form jolting as it collided with the frozen ground. For a moment his eyes only registered the blue above him, the clouds moving lazily across its surface the throb in his jaw the only sensation he felt.

_You would have laughed relentlessly at me._

 Groaning he rolled over onto his side, chest heaving as he looked up at the looming form of Cassian above him, scowling.

“You’re not paying attention,” the looming male critiqued, brows rising, “If that had been actual combat you would have been taken down in a matter of a few maneuvers. That’s the worst spar we’ve had in weeks.” Cassian jerked his chin over his shoulder, indicating the rings behind him, “Get up. If you’re going to act like a fledgling then you’re going to train with the fledglings.”

“I’m not a fledgling,” Cenric muttered up at Cassian, cobalt eyes narrowing as he felt the power build beneath his skin, wanting to crack out, to be released, an ominous and unrelenting thrum _, why couldn’t it have manifested then?_ “I’ve earned my spot here so stop threatening to throw me back in with the grunts.”  
  
“Then quit acting like grunts,” Cassian replied matter-of-factly, his hazel eyes narrowing in understanding as he offered a hand out to boy, “you’re better than that. If you don’t get it together you’re not going to be ready for the rite.”  
  
“You think I’m not aware of that?” Cenric snapped, swatting the hand away, his normal good nature shoved away and a rare streak of grumpiness shining through, couldn’t they have done it on any day but this one? “Let’s just call it quits, we can pick up where we left off tomorrow.”

Cassian released a sign through his nose, running his hands through his sweat soaked locks, “Look I know today’s rough on everyone, but you’ve only got a few weeks to get ready kid—”  
  
It was Starfall.   
  
She would have been 23.  
  
“And?” Cenric shot back, launching to his feet, his body coiling and springing with cat like grace, his limbs lined with a strength few fae possessed, so much like his father in both appearance and power, “you think one day is going to make a difference on that mountain?” His arms crossed over his chest, his leathers full of sweat, shaggy raven locks falling in his face, “One more day of getting smacked around isn’t going to change the fact that they’re going to be out for my blood, I can handle it, _handle them_.”

Enough was implied in that phrase. Some of their sons and cousins were still alive, alive when _she was not._

She should have been home primping her curls and fretting over dresses.

Teasing him relentlessly about something, anything.  
  
“You’re lucky they’re even letting you take the rite,” Cassian snapped, the snarl tearing from his lips making the birds in the nearby trees flee,  “You’re not even half Illyrian and Delvon has been protesting from the moment we suggested you joining.”  
  
Even after everything, rebellions and all, Devlon had still remained loyal to the Court of Dreams and had even softened in some ways, one of those ways allowing a mixed blood barely Illyrian with no wings to compete in the rite, even if his protest were loud at every turn.  
  
“Don’t you think for one second I’m going to let you on Ramiel without the proper training to defend yourself,” Cassian straightened his shoulders, tucking his chin as he stared his nephew down, hazel eyes flaming, “you’re not ready.“  
  
“I am Uncle,” Cenric replied, his brows knotted at the center of his forehead, his power dampening, its pull loosening itself. Instead a well of sorrow began opening in his chest, absorbing the anger, chiseling away at the hot red fire that was turning to smoldering ash, “but today,  I can’t do this today.”  
  
“She wouldn’t have wanted to watch you die on that mountain,” Cassian replied, his hazel eyes softening, fear lingering there as he watched his nephew carefully, the love and will to protect endless in that gaze, something that had only solidified since the death of the Court of Dreams star, “not to mention your mother will kill me if I let you fail.”

“I know,” Cenric replied, his breath fogging in front of him, the temperatures still plummeted even in the early throes of summer, the sweat on his brow now starting to become frigid _, she must have been so cold when she die-_ “I just need space.”  
  
“Then go,” Cassian jerked his chin towards the mountains, unwrapping his hands, “run some laps, clear your head, then meet me back here for one more round then we’ll head back to Velaris.”

Cenric only nodded in reply, shaking himself before turning on his heal and jogging across the camp, intent on looping around the outskirts of the tents and letting his mind wander. He knew Cassian meant well, knew that his uncle only wanted to watch his wallop every self-serving lord’s son on that mountain and to show them exactly what blood ran through his veins, wanted to watch him walk off that summit without a mark on him-

The guilt was near suffocating.

 It had been thirteen years and still her birthday haunted him.

He picked up steady pace and moved easily around the camp, a few of the younger Illyrian females sending glances his way, their interest not so easily hidden. He scowled and ignored them, their interest and pining the last thing on his mind.

He couldn’t forget the fear that had cascaded through him when he’d heard the news that she was missing, gone. Couldn’t forget the lump in his throat as he’d watched his family winnow from the townhouse, panic and horror lining their faces and forms as they scrambled trying to find her, to get her home.

He picked up his pace, his hair bouncing as he glided around the camp outskirts, the tattered remains of former bastard’s tents billowing in the cold breeze.  
  
He’d remained with Elaine in the Riverside Estate, her warm arms pulling him close to her, her warm tears soaking his hair as he stood there helpless, useless.

Elaine had known she was gone, Cenric was certain, though she’d never voiced it. had known as she’d held him close and quietly mourned.   
  
He’d never told her goodbye.   
  
Had never been able to protect her.

He picked up his pace, gliding up a steep incline, rocks rolling beneath his boot clad feet.

It was why he’d chosen to fight in the rings only weeks after her death, to be trained with the Illyrians as his father, uncles and aunt all had.

 He’d never wanted to be a warrior, that had been her dream, Celeste’s dream, but knowing how to defend those he loved, so that that loss never happened again, he was glad to subject himself to whatever it’d take to ensure it. He’d happily thrown himself in that cold ring, had happily allowed the bigger boys to slam him over and over again into the mud, smashing his shoulder and face, littering his body with bruises as his father had watched in silence, knowing not to intervene. Had patched him up, along with the smoothing hands of his mother, when he’d stumbled into that small cabin after that first night.

He had allowed himself to grow as he had, both physically and magically, so that he could protect that which he loved most, since he couldn’t have protected her.

His heart stung in a way he wasn’t sure would ever fade.

He was happy for the rite, for the opportunity to slaughter the sons and relatives of the traitors who’d taken his sister from him and he’d happy slit all of their throats when he set foot on that sacred mountain, come death or victory.

\------------

“You’re being unusually rough,” an icy voice echoed behind Cassian, lithe footfalls falling against the frozen ground, the smell of her engulfing him, unknotting the tightness wound in his shoulders, “what’s eating at you?”  
  
Cassian turned his attention to his brassy haired mate, to Nesta, and released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Her beauty still knocked the breath from him, the power and grace that oozed from her, a queen unbendable. Especially with the site of the powerful and nearly unwieldable bow strapped across her back, a weapon she'd master in a fraction of time it should have taken her.   
  
He’d never stood a chance against her.

“He’s too distracted,” Cassian replied, rubbing at his sore neck, the inkling of guilt beginning to bloom around the edges for kicking the boy so hard in the face, “He’s so focused on killing all of them that he’s not taking his own safety into account.” Cassian shook his head, glancing skyward, “he wants so badly to extract some sort of revenge, even if it’s against those who had no part in the rebellion.”  
  
Nesta’s steel eyes were as bright as they’d always been, silver flame unwavering, “Do you blame him?”   
  
Cassian cut her a sidelong glance.  
  
“Never.”

The only reason he hadn't done it himself was to prevent another all at rebellion and war in the camps, they'd lost enough as it were.  
  
Nesta stepped up to Cassian, her leather’s hugging her lithe figure, and reach out a gloved hand, resting it on Cassian’s bicep. Her acceptance and willingness to participate in small public displays of affection growing with each passing year, the connection to her mate smoothing her frayed edges, not that she’d ever admit it.

Nesta had taken to training the woman in the camps, had created her own unit in the aftermath of dealing with the trauma of her father’s death and in realizing her soul bonding with Cassian. Over the last century she’d build a remarkable group of incredibly fast and skilled woman who, frankly, put the male warriors to shame.

The true pride of the Illyrian steps.

Cassian only wished she’d been able to help train their niece.

 Cenric was absolutely right to be as upset as he was, she should have been there in the thick of it all. 

“Today would have been about her,” Nesta replied, her voice unwavering, though Cassian saw the fury ripple beneath the surface, that raw energy, the embodiment of death, that she’d stolen from the cauldron, peaking out, “You can’t blame the boy for his feelings. He’s not the only one who feels that way.”  
  
Cassian didn’t respond, his mind also wandering to a place he tried to not venture. It’d been three weeks since they’d been to the grave, since everything had halted for them to mourn, before spiraling off back into normal. That grey headstone stuck to the front of his mind, a stinging failure.

“Let him think,” she stated blandly, her icy eyes locking with Cassian’s own earth toned ones, “the girls are itching for a man to throw around anyway, why don’t you go help them.”

Cassian cut her a grin, “you just want to watch me get my ass handed to me by your girls.”  
  
“Absolutely.” Nesta squeezed his shoulder before letting go, “Now make use of yourself. I’ll deal with Cenric.”

“Very well,” Cassian pressed a light kiss to Nesta’s temple before stalking off across the mud, rolling his shoulders in preparation of the hell cats fury he knew he was about to be subjected to, he glanced over a shoulder calling, “try to leave so skin on the poor kids behind.”  
  
Nesta let out one sharp snort before turning her attention away from Cassian, waiting on her nephew to come to her.  
  
Cassian chuckled mirthlessly, his hands shoving in his pockets, rustling his wings as he stalked towards the high pitched laughter of Nesta’s unit. Cassian watched as the girls flared their wings, taunting one another and for the briefest moment imagined what Celeste would have looked like amongst them.

_Damnit kid_ , Cassian thought feeling a tingling at the corner of his eyes, _I’m sorry_.

\--------------

Cenric wrapped back around after a couple laps to where he and Cassian had been training and was surprised to see his aunt in his uncle’s spot.

“Nesta,” he greeted, the run having worn some of the edge off his anger, “Where’s Cassian.”  
  
“Training with the girls,” She popped her neck and stepped forward her ice eyes watching him with a predator’s intent, Cenric immediately felt the blood drain from his face, “you’re training with me now.”

He immediately regretted his choices.


	12. Stained-Glass and Pastries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys don't mind the slurry of updates!

Cenric rolled his shoulder in agony, his face aching, throbbing from the deep-set bruise encompassing the expanse of his eyebrow, trying, and failing to ignore the tick of pain emanating from his skull every time his pulse flickered.

Nesta had beat his ass into the dirt.

Had utterly dominated him until he’d been nothing but a wheezing mess on the ground and she’d stood over him looking at him with that indifferent stare and quirked brow she always regarded him with.   
  
He’d learned his lesson.

And never wanted to lift himself from the couch again.  
  
“She really did do a number on you,” Elaine said by way of greeting, her brown eyes squinting in concerned as she came around the large arched corner from the kitchen, a tray of tea and sugary cakes in her delicate hands and her rose petal pink gown swishing about her legs, “she really shouldn’t have done that.”  
  
“It’s fine Elaine,” Cenric replied, feeling the clotted blood in his nose flutter as he tried to breath through the appendage, he winced, “she’s only trying to get me ready for the rite.” _By beating me half to death._

Elain clicked her tongue in distaste, setting the silver tray down in front of her nephew on the small clawed foot coffee table. The warm afternoon sun dripped in through the large bay windows overlooking the lazily flowing Sidra, the golden hues pooling against the rich wooden interior of the sitting room, accenting the beautiful tapestries and paintings hung across the walls.

This had been the home he and Celeste had both been born and raised in, the home their mother had designed from the ground up, from the plush carpeted floors to the high vaulted ceilings above where stained-glass skylights peppered the cream floors in kaleidoscope colors.

The home where as children he and Celeste had played and grown together, here and the old townhouse.   
  
“Rite smite,” Elaine said with a shake of her head, golden curls flitting with the motion, dumping several large sugar cubes into one of the small cups before scooping up the small tea pot and poured the dark liquid over the pile, “all of this fighting nonsense is befitting of barbarians, not noble young men.”

She lifted the cup and handed it over to her nephew, gently setting the warm cup into his cold hands.

Cenric cocked his head, shooting his aunt a look as he sipped at the hot tea, sweetened to perfection, “You do remember who you are intending to wed, don’t you?”  
  
“Azriel is not like that,” A blush flashed across her cheeks and up her pointed ears, her hands knotting nervously in her gown, no longer having a tray to keep them occupied, fidgeting, “Oh fine, the lot of them are-- but still, it hurts me to see you battered and bruised.” Her caramel eyes softened as she glanced over her nephew, “do not forget some of us remember the days when you were small and helpless, totting about.”

Cenric felt a blush rise on his cheeks, the earnest look in his aunts eyes bringing shame to him over his piss poor attitude that morning that had resulted in him taking such a beating.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Cenric looked down into his tea, guilt beginning to blossom in his chest, “I just want to do well, I want to do what’s right _.”  I want to undo the past and make things right._

Elaine must have read between the lines, like she always did.

Cenric heard the soft rustle of fabric and felt the warmth of Elaine’s hand as she took his in her own.   
  
“You will,” she reassured, his cobalt eyes rising to meet her brown ones, caramel swirls of rich gold flickering at their center, a beacon of comfort that always found a way to steady him, “and we’ll all be here waiting for you when you come back.”

He heard the unspoken words, loud and crystal clear.

_She loved you very much but she wouldn’t want you to dwell, to let it destroy you._  
  
Elaine squeezed his hand once again and nodded before letting go and rising, moving back to her seat on the couch adjacent to his.

He’d always had support, a family to love and nurture him, something that many others didn’t have the privilege of experiencing. Sometimes he forgot that when his anger and emotions blinded him. He lifted the hand Elaine had held up to his tea, gently holding the porcelain mug to his lips, contemplating.

“He’ll be fine,” A rumbling voice answered from the kitchen, midnight and stardust coating that tone, nearly the same pitch as Cenric’s, “he is mine and his mothers son after all.”

Rhys looped around the corner, his immaculate black coat and trousers cleanly pressed, clearly dressed and ready for Starfall, his black wings tucked in as he moved across the massive sitting room. His violet eyes trailed along his son’s battered face, the corner of his lips slightly downturning at the sight.

“She really did wallop you,” Rhys replied, a small chuckle escaping his lips, running his hand through his dark locks bemusement lighting up his fathers face.

Cenric scowled.

Rhy shoved his hands in his pockets, “Cassian said you were flailing about like a newborn fawn in the ring.”  
  
“Cassian needs to learn when to shut the hell up,” Cenric grumbled, sinking further into the couch, his pinky quaking as he pulled the cup of warm liquid to his lips. He hadn’t been focusing on where he’d been placing his hits _, flailing like a newborn fawn indeed_.

Rhys only supplied a small chuckle as he walked passed the back of the couch, his large hand landing affectionately on his sons head, tousling his already mused hair. “Tomorrow I’m taking over with the sparring, you can beat up on your old man instead.”

A tendril of relief coursed through Cenric’s veins, no more sparring with the queen hell cat, at least not for awhile.

Reaching forward, ignoring the agonizing pull and pop of his shoulder, he scooped up a raspberry tart and plopped it in his mouth, savoring the rich berry flavor.

A small disgruntled nose slipped past his father’s lips.

“You smell worse than Cassian after a week of camping,” Rhys commented as he rounded the corner of couch, wrinkling his nose, “go get a bath. I don’t know how Elaine’s tolerating it.”  
  
“It’s no worse than Azriel after a day of training,” she answered quietly, her cup held to her lips as she sipped delicately at her tea, brown eyes unfocused staring off into the distance, “I barely register it anymore.”  
  
“Well that only makes one of us,” Rhys jibed, rooting Cenric’s from leg it’s resting place across his knee, earning a hiss of pain as soreness tore through his muscles as he foot landed on the plus carpet with a padded _thwap,_ “go change your clothes and get ready for the evening.”  

Cenric grumbled before shoving himself upright, grabbing several sugar dusted pastries and shoving them simultaneously, much to the dismay of Elaine and amusement of his father, in his mouth before sauntering off towards the large spiraling staircase that led to the second and third floor suites to where his private room and bath were, his legs screaming in protest.

“And Cenric,” his father called after him, making him pause on the stairs and look back over his shoulder cobalt eyes locking with violet, “comb that hair of yours.”

The dark haired fale male snorted and raised his hand in acknowledgement.

_Do everything with love_ , he could hear her say, with that tinkering bell like laugh and wisdom that dated her beyond her mere nine years, _and if that doesn’t work, smack ‘em with a broom._

\-----------

“He really didn’t smell that awful.” Elaine replied, still sipping at her tea shifting her gaze up to Rhys, her sister’s husband, and her now longtime friend, a friendship that Rhys was immensely grateful to have.

“No,” Rhys shook his head, his attention focusing on the lengthy staircase where his son had disappeared up several moments before, “but he was content to sit there and brood for the rest of the evening instead of getting ready for the party tonight, the boy needs a little encouragement.”

_Sounds like someone I know_ , a voice hummed at the back of his mind sending his mind to curl in delight around its appearance, stroking it in greeting, _you illyrians are such sensitive things_.

_He’s only a fourth love_ , Rhys replied down the bond, caressing that thick band that had become his very existence _,_ his life line and will _, you can hardly attribute his sensitive nature to that blood._

A palpable eyeroll danced down the bond _, if he were anymore Illyrian he’d be as unbearable as the rest of you are._

“And a few less bruises.” Elaine added after a few moments, interrupting he and his mates internal conversation. She sat down her tea.

A roaring sensation collected at the end of that bond, at the images Feyre had glanced from inside Rhy’s mind. He met it with soothing darkness, trying to quell the feral mothering instinct that had prowled under his mate’s skin since she’d first brought life into the world.   
  
He’d have to speak to Nesta about it.

Again.

_Don’t bother_ , he heard Feyre reply her voice eerily calm, those dark claws beginning to emerge at the edges of her energy, _I’ll speak with her._

Elaine must have read the look on his face, sensed the silent conversation as she replied, “She thinks she’s helping.”

Feyre’s fury dampened a bit, a touch of understanding fluttering down the bond.

“Tell Feyre there’s no point in fighting with Nesta,” Elaine rose from her seat, placing her now empty tea cup on the tray along with the remaining pastries,” she’s not keen on losing another child in this family, even if her methods seem unorthodox.”

And there it was.

It was easy to forget that Nesta loved Cenric just as deeply as everyone else, even though her means often did not come across in such a way. _The ice queen never completely thawed_ , Rhys mused to himself and his mate, a kernel of truth shining there.

Elaine lifted the tray with fluid grace as she tipped her head in farewell before making her way towards the kitchens, “I need to help Nuala and Cerridwen finishes the pies for this evening, tell Feyre I hope she intends to wear that beautiful lapis gown she was eyeballing in her closet, it’ll go well with the decorations this year.”  
  
“I’ll let her know.” Rhys replied, watching as the thin female disappeared into the noisy kitchen, the clanking of pots and rich smells permeating the home.

Feyre’s fury eddied away and her voice quieted, contemplating. Rhys reach out a delicate tendril of energy to comfort, to soothe.

_Elaine’s right_ , Feyre finally conceded down the bond after several long moments, though her motherly pride still balked at the idea, _the rite is fast approaching and he’s going to be on his own out there, he doesn’t have an Azriel or Cassian to help him like you did._

_I know._

The thought was something that had lurked in Rhys thoughts since Cenric had petitioned to join the rite earlier that winter, demanding to be included because his blood demanded it.

_He’s strong_ , _unbelievably strong_ , Rhys supplied thinking proudly on the memories of watching his son dominate opponent after opponent in the ring with only physical strength, not to mention his insurmountable magical ability which left even himself in the dust, _he’ll be ready, I’ll make sure he’s ready._

_I know you will_ , she replied her energy taking on that distant tone that set Rhys heart in disarray, the distance that made him want to tear down walls to get to her and never let her go _, we cannot lose both of them._

_We won’t_ , Rhys swore with the entirety of his being, the image of Celeste rising up between them, every detail of her face still clear as day in their memory, tied so deeply to their bond, even _if I have to work him to the bone for the next few weeks, day and night, to ensure it._

They had mourned that day three weeks prior, the day they had set aside all of those years ago to be dedicated to her entirely, had reflected on what could have been different and how they had failed. Tonight, however, was not meant to be that way. A promise they had all made in light of it all.

She wouldn’t have wanted anyone to be sad on her birthday, to have wept and mourned what couldn’t be changed. No, she would have wanted a huge party with tons of gifts and cake. So they had sworn, as a court, as _a family_ , every year that they would celebrate that day, celebrate the life she had _lived_ , even though she could not be there with them. They would sing, dance and drink to keep her memory alive, to honor her in the only way left that they could.

A tendril of love slid down and wrapped around his heart, thanking him.

_So about that dress_ , Rhys flashed an image down the bond, slowly taking the stairs up to the second floor, to where his mate was primping for the evening, _did you find that package of fun unmentionables I picked up for you on the bed?_

A rush of coy playfulness rushed down the bond, _I don’t know mate why you don’t come and find out._

_I fully intend to._


	13. Into The Depths--Part 1

_This is fine_ , Gandriel reassured himself glancing to and fro, his eyes narrowing, trying to make out the path beyond the unnatural dancing mists that had reach out to greet them, encompassing them in a soft and oddly cool embrace. He tried to ignore the dead silence that encompassed them, only broken by the occasional thump of a mused rock that rolled when stepped on, _most definitely fine._

A twig snapped.  
  
He nearly screamed.

“A bit jumpy are you?” Celeste, as he’d finally learned her name was, drew, cutting him a dry look. Her unbelievably bright star flecked eyes locked onto him, unflinching.  He could see the wheels turning in her mind, stripping away his bravado piece by piece.

She could tame a viper with that look.

Under the moonlight she was undeniably striking, more so than any other fae women he’d ever laid eyes on.

His eyes glanced down and noticed she had been the one to step on a particularly large twig, had snapped it with a bit more force that her light steps could have made.

She was also unbelievably wicked.

She was toying with him.

_I’m fine._

He supplied her a sultry grin.

“Hardly,” he offered her an arm, winking at her trying to smooth over the edges, “however if you’re scared I’d be happy to escort the fearful lady up the path.” She gave him that flat stare, she wasn’t buying it, not even for a second.

 _This is fine_ , he dropped his arm and shrugged his shoulders, making it seem like no great loss, _it is all going to be just fine_.

They made their way up the inclined rolling hills that surrounded the large structure, the moss and grass so thick and wet that it squelched with each step they took.

No signs of life stirred on the island, as though their arrival had sent any living thing into hiding, except those damn ravens watching their obvious approach, occasionally shifting their wings from their perch on the tombs stone top. Only the swirling eddies of the mist, directed by an absent force, like a conductor leading a silent symphony, accompanied them. The old dead trees loomed skyward, basking their grey-washed skeletons in the moonlight, no wind ambling their branches.

This sure didn’t match the description he’d found in that old sodden leather-bound book in that rusty trunk in Marchedor, the one that described this place as a blooming peaceful isle that’s silence brought enlightenment to whom ever stepped foot on it’s soils. This was more like the excerpt from one of the horror tales weaved on All Hollows Eve aimed to scare the children away from creeping about the city at night.

It’s position had appeared on that old damp map, a itty bitty tiny red dot centered in the vast expanse of ocean residing to the west of the main continent, almost exactly in the middle between itself and Prythian, due North from where that accursed wall had once sat.

The place where some hidden treasures of ancient times was supposedly hidden, if that soggy old molded journal was to be believed.

Based on his calculations it was at least three weeks travel under ideal conditions from Vanica. Two of those weeks had been supplied by the slave trade boat he’d conveniently offered his services to in the dead of night in Portmouth, ash arrows and knives aimed at his throat as he smooth talked his way into working with them. Convincing them that having an extra set of fae hands around would prevent any of them from getting their throats ripped out by any _cargo_ they were sent to capture.

The last week, shortened to just under two days of sailing thanks to his storm magic, was supplied by Celeste, an expert sailor and prime navigator much to his surprise and delight.

She’d proven to be useful beyond just her initial purpose, even if his jaw still cracked uncomfortably when he opened his mouth.

He glanced side long at her, weighing his calculations about her gifts, watching with sharp eyes to see any peek of that forbidden magic rising to peek through. That magic that old scrying glass had shown him that would help him in his little predicament.

He saw none.

She had seemed relatively normal except for that temper and those looks of hers upon meeting her, but he could palpate the thrumming well of magic coiling beneath her skin. Something in Gandriel knew that he had made the right choice.

He quirked his lips, eye glistening.

She would do.

They surmounted the last hill, the mist beginning to peel away from them, dancing away, as they took the final steps towards the stone tomb that lay before them.

Now he just had to get into that tomb without pissing himself.

\----------

The thing was absolutely gargantuan.

Tall stone pillars loomed above them, cracks running parallel along the edges of their structure where vines peaked out, having over taken the ancient stone and crushed it beneath it’s grasp. A low wide staircase laid at the lip of the entrance, it’s pale surface almost blindingly bright in the moonlight and at its center in front of its stone sealed entrance, stood a black stone.

Just the sight of it sent Celeste’s senses reeling, its other worldliness beckoning her closer.  Its inky surface absorbed all the light cast on it, like a void that swallowed everything whole, so at odds with the bright tomb that surrounded it.

Whatever they were looking for, that stone served as a marker and warning to any who tried to access the crypt, Celeste was certain. Gandriel stopped next to her, his tan skin glistening in the humidity under the moonlight, his golden hair having curled at the ends as it’d dried.

“Do you feel anything?” He asked, sliding his gaze over to Celeste, hands stuffed casually in his pockets, “any tug or pull?”  
  
A pause.  
  
“No,” Celeste shook her head, a shiver racing up her spine as she felt the gaze of the ravens on her, watching, her entire being shuddering at the wrongness of this place, “all I feel is awful and an immense sense that this is a terrible idea.”  
  
“Try anyway.” Gandriel signaled towards the tomb door before them, quirking a brow at her.  
  
She cut him a look. So help her if this moron got her killed on this island—

It was like a drum, suddenly brought to life, throbbing when it sensed her. She nearly collapsed when she felt the first vibration rip through her, shaking her very core, calling to her, demanding her attention.

Void, this thing was beyond even darkness, it was the feeling of emptiness of a pit that none could escape-

 _I’ve been looking for you_ , a feminine voice cooed, it’s whispy tone dancing, _come see child, come see what awaits._

Celeste felt her eyes widen, palms suddenly coated in icey sweat as she glanced towards Gandriel who’s tan skin had blanched, his lips pulled tight as he looked at the tomb as though it might eat him.

She gave him a look, asking if he had heard the voice.

 He gave her a small nod.

_Why do you hesitate?_

Celeste felt like she was going to vomit.

She felt herself take one step, then another, directed by an invisible force tugging her forward. Somehow she could not find the will to stop it, the feminine presence pulling her forward as though by some invisible strings.

 _I will tell you want to do_ , it purred, that empty feeling caressing Celeste’s energy, _you need only let me lead._

Gandriel stood behind her, those sharp cat like eyes watching, assessing.

As if reciting an old rite, something she’d done a million times, she circled the monolith once clockwise, her boot clad toes tapping almost soundlessly against the stone base as the voice whispered in the night-

_Once for the guardians who lie in wait,_

_Copper corpses twined in armor of might,_  


She felt herself stop, the world around her silent and slow, a fog overcoming her senses, she turned and circled again counterclockwise,  
  
_Twice for the daughter, come too late,  
Inky darkness seeping, beckoning the death of light,_  
_  
_ She stopped again, the temperature having dropped suddenly that her breath fogged in front of her, an icy presence holding her palm as it turned her clockwise once more,  
  
_Thrice for the mother who lost her mate,_  
_On your knees, may death ascertain your rite._

Stepping forward Celeste laid her flat palms across the monolith, the strange circular markings beckoning her. As her skin made contact with the stone the marks flared to life beneath her hands, turquoise light thrumming. Releasing a breath through her nose she tried to focus on it, whatever it was, calling out to it tentatively with her energy.

Much to Celeste’s surprise and chagrin, it responded back, viciously.  
  
Celeste grunted in pain as it lashed out against her energy, barely having the time throw a shield up around her mind, a skill she’d nearly forgotten how to use, as it barreled straight for it, intent on tearing through her. It practically chuckled in delight at her touch, wrapping its energy viciously around her, pinning her.  
  
_Thank you._

Her eyes flew open, she couldn’t move. Her hands were bound to the stone.

A low rumbling and creaking cried out in the night, sending the seven ravens cawing and flying in various directions, terror coating their tones as the stone slab behind the black stone opened, a stale wind rushing out of the tomb to meet them.

As the door stopped it’s motion the stone let go, Celeste’s hands sliding free from the prison that held her. That dark voice still called out to her in delight, an ancient wickedness cooing at her in immense gratitude.

Whatever she had just done, she was not supposed to have. Never in a million years was that to have been opened. 

Her heart thundered in her chest, her limbs quaking, the force having just drawn on her power, her very life force to break whatever seal had held that tomb shut.

The presence shifted, crawling back into the recesses of the open tomb, an eerie hum echoing out of it's depths.

Celeste sunk to her knees.  
  
Light footsteps approached behind her, the lazy trot of a lion who had successfully captured it’s prey. Celeste glanced up to that golden face, her shoulders still quivering.

“Well done,” Gandriel complimented, though a prominent waver was in his voice. He patted gently Celeste on the shoulder before offering her a gloved hand, “Let’s go.”


	14. Into The Depths--Part 2

She felt a tug leading her down into the depths of the tomb, the faelight flickering in Gandriel’s hand as he followed close behind, the steps leading them deep into the earth. The stagnant air wrapped around them like a feather-light cloth, the scent of decay and dust prominent in the air.

Celeste shuddered as she descended the steps one by one, the remnants of that presence still clinging to her very being, smearing it in inky blackness.

 “What exactly,” Celeste drew, a shiver dancing down her spine as she watched each step she took into the depths, her breath fogging in front of her, “are we looking for here?”

“I told you,” Gandriel replied, his color having fully returned to his face, eyes scanning the darkness around them, “it’s a powerful item that no one has seen in millennia.”

“That doesn’t answer the question,” Celeste grumbled, another shiver racing up her spine as the tug from the depths grew stronger, “I’d like to know exactly what I’m risking myself for here.” _And to know exactly what I just unleashed,_ she added as an afterthought, though a bit limply.  
  
“You’ll see soon enough.”

She suppressed a snarl, biting her lip to keep from snapping at the male. His inability to provide any information left Celeste with a sense of uneasiness, a sense that she was being lead blindly in the dark. _He knows what he’s doing_ , she tried to assure herself, though it felt weaker than she would have liked, _Get through this then you can go and save Anelisse_.

After what had felt like an eternal descent Celeste finally stepped off the last stair and into a vaulted catacomb, the arched ceiling reaching so high it was nearly undiscernible in the darkness. Rows and rows of tombs lay in parallel to one another, their golden surfaces polished and adorned with intricate patterns and jewels.

A resting place for something very important indeed.

“What in the Mother’s name is this place?” Celeste breathed, taking in the intricate stone carvings that littered the walls, the vibrant paint having been preserved by either some luck or charm, depicting figures clothed in heavy armor fighting against what appeared to be non-corporal figures, figures that looked like shadow brought to life.

It set off an alarm in Celeste’s mind, a voice telling her to remember, to _listen._   
  
“The dumping grounds for the remains of the dead,” Gandriel replied cracking his neck before moving past Celeste between the sarcophagi, the faelight bouncing with each step he took and flickering off the polished gold of the caskets, “and a gold mine for the living.”

Celeste sent him a disbelieving look, watching as he ran his hand over each of the golden sarcophagi, assessing.

He was going to sack the tomb.

“You can’t be serious,” She hissed, trotting after the casually strolling fae male, eyeballing the odds and ends of treasure and potential fortune around him, “I thought we were here for something specific. Messing with the graves of the dead is only going to bring us trouble.” _And we’re in enough trouble as it is,_ she thought sourly.   
  
Following behind Gandriel’s casual, lazy steps she nimbly avoided brushing against any of the tombs, intent on avoiding getting cursed or disturbing something she intended to leave that honor to Gandriel. Squinting she tried to discern the words behind the ancient writings marking each surface. _Likely names and titles,_ she mused to herself, dodging around a particularly large sarcophagus.

The room was covered in those strange circular markings that had flared to life beneath her palms on that monolith, each flowing seamlessly into the other as they stretched from floor to ceiling and across each of the caskets. Looking around her in awe she trailed slowly after Gandriel, her eyes roaming slowly over the carvings, memorizing.

The inky blackness that had accompanied that voice had nearly vanished, as though whisked away on a silent wind, no longer present in the tomb.

And, therefore, no longer leading.   
  
“Relax,” Gandriel rumbled after a few moments of looking about, glancing over his shoulder at Celeste, the faelight casting his face in pale shadows, “I’m not going to steal from the dead,” he ran his hand over one of the golden lined sarcophagi, fingers settling on a large sapphire, nearly the size of a chickens egg, “though it’s a waste of gold if you ask me. What use do the dead have for it anyway?”

She rolled her eyes; his foolishness knew no bounds.

“If you have time to roll your eyes,” Gandriel replied dryly, his head cocked to the side as he watched her with that predatory stare, “then you have time to be looking.”

“As you wish,” she replied sarcastically, dipping her head in a curtsey, “lest we delay getting ourselves and our descendants cursed any longer.”

He snorted, dismissing her and turn back to continue his wandering.  
  
Useless prick.   
  
She began searching through the rows and rows of tombs, beckoning for the tug to lead her to whatever Gandriel was looking for.

Nothing stood out.

She sighed, rubbing her face in exasperation before closing her eyes. Diving deep into that unused well she focused, tentatively throwing her energy out like a net, searching.

A sudden cold and brisk wind whipped through the catacomb sending Celeste’s skirt and hair billowing. She let out a surprised gasp as she watched the wind blow the dust deep into the temple, a faelight flaring to life at the end of the row of tombs, casting the room in an eerie blue glow.

It had answered.

“That’s totally normal,” Gandriel shrilled, his hand wrapped so tightly around the faelight he was holding he nearly squished it, “Completely expected.” He looked back at Celeste, something like fear dancing in his eyes, “The item is there.”

His scent of terror was nearly suffocating.

Why _had_ she followed him?

She tilted her head towards the now illuminated slab, indicating for him to lead the way. She watched as he pushed his shoulders back and began the trek through the array of sarcophagi, the gold glittering unnervingly as they moved.

Gandriel cleared the last of the distance to the slab illuminated by the faelight, nearly skittering across the floor as Celeste trailed closely behind as she glanced to and fro, watching. They both stopped in front of the stone bench, small in size compared to the tombs lying in front of it, its surface draped in what had once been a rich velvet cloth.  On it lay an unremarkable metal object.  
  
“That’s it?” Gandriel said almost in disbelief, blinking at the object before him.   
  
On the pewter slab in the center of the worn red cloth lay a slender curve of blackened metal, bent into a shallow crescent, with the ends folded over themselves. It was large, almost the size of a shortbow, but thin, barely the diameter of a coin.  
  
“This is it?” Gandriel snorted, picking up the piece and turning it over in his hands.  Relief flooded Celeste, whatever this item was it wasn’t the source of that dreaded feeling of death that had permeated the tomb upon its opening.  “I went to all this trouble for a sliver of metal?” He smacked it against his hand, it wobbled. “This isn’t even good iron!  What a waste.”

“What was it supposed to be?” Celeste inquired, the hair on her neck prickling suddenly as she looked at the thin metal crescent; it was less than remarkable, something that appeared hastily crafted at best. It was an entirely unremarkable dull black and looked like something a blacksmith would use as scrap to melt and reforge.

Some mysterious item indeed.

“I don’t know, but most certainly not this.” Gandriel shook the metal, something like irritation overcoming his face, his lips pulling back from his teeth as he rattled the object in frustration, “That blasted map lied to me! How is this suppose to help me get out of that blood pact?”  
  
“What do you mean you ‘don’t know’” Celeste replied, cutting a sharp look up at Gandriel, her violet eyes locking onto his sharp features, a boiling irritation bubbling beneath the surface of her skin, “…You had no idea what we were looking for in the first place, did you?”  
  
Gandriel had enough sense to look almost sheepish at the question.  
  
“Did you?” Celeste insisted, a growl building in her chest. Whatever Gandriel was looking for, he had had absolutely no idea what it even was, and Celeste was now inclined to think he had no idea what he was doing at all.

Dread tore through her as she looked at the piece of metal hanging limply in his hands. Whatever they had risked awakening by coming in here had been all over some item that the foolish prick didn’t even know how to identify.

She reached for the metal in his hand, intent on shoving it down his throat.  
  
“Give me that,” she hissed, ripping the metal away from Gandriel’s hand earning a grunt of annoyance as she pulled it away, “I’m going to wrap this so tightly around your neck you’ll suffocate-“

“Hey! Don’t go destroying ancient pieces of junk, I can still sell that-” Gandriel yelped, grabbing ahold of the metal and pulling against Celeste’s grip on it. They yanked the piece of metal between them for several moments before Celeste finally pried it away from him.

The rustling of cloth echoed throughout the tomb, freezing the two to the spot.

The hair on Celeste’s neck prickled higher this time, a chill racing down her arm.

Gandriel stepped back, goosebumps beginning to raise on his arms as he looked around him, searching for the source of that sound.

“What was that-?”

A skeletal hand punched up out of the ground, its spindly fingers grabbing Gandriel’s leg.

He let out a shriek reminiscent of a screaming hare.   
  
Too startled to think and acting purely on instinct, Celeste kicked out at the hand, smashing the bones to dust and freeing Gandriel’s leg, the metal still gripped tightly in her hands. She frantically shoved it back into Gandriel’s arms.

He flinched, fumbled with it, and shoved it back at her.   
  
Celeste dodged, forcing him to keep the object as she turned her back to face the hundreds of rows of coffins that lay before her. All of which were vibrating.   
  
“This may have been a bad idea.” Gandriel muttered, his face gaunt, peering down in horror at the curve of metal gripped tightly in his palms, appearing as though he half expected it to turn into a snake and strike him.

Celeste swallowed a scream as hands and feet burst forth from all of the coffins, the ancient bones glistening like copper in the faint fae light bathing the room. In horror she watched as wights freed themselves from their bound prisons, the catacombs crumbling around them.

The faelight that had illuminated the pewter slab sputtered and the catacomb was plunged into utter darkness.

The first wight screamed, followed by a cascade of the others, their bones clanking as they rose from their graves.

Most definitely something that wasn’t supposed to have been awoken.   
  
Without thought Celeste grabbed Gandriel’s wrist and bolted blindly through the darkness, back down the rows of tombs, hoping and praying to whatever deity would listen that they would not trip. Light suddenly flared to life, and Gandriel’s revived faelight illuminated the path towards the stairs.

And illuminated all of the empty eyes of the wights, their attention entirely focused on the light and on the pair of living, breathing beings holding it. As if in unison the wights began scrambling from their beds and hurtled towards the fleeing pair, their focus entirely on them.

She’d kill Gandriel herself if they survived this.

Celeste artfully dodged around the skeletons, trying to not tangle herself in her dress as she jumped from side to side, avoiding the swiping of fae blades that had also been pulled free from the tombs by what she assumed were their previous wielders if their excellent aim was any indication.

Dodging out of the way of one well placed swipe, Celeste felt her legs entangle in her dress and toppled forward into the arms of a newly risen wight, a curved rapier hanging limply in its hands and a golden chain looped about its neck.

The skeleton grabbed Celeste by the front of her dress and lifted her skywards with uncanny strength, its empty eyes staring up as it angled its sword toward Celeste’s stomach, its prize in hand as it unleashed a bloodcurdling scream of victory.

Terror tore through her veins as she flailed, trying to knock the creature’s grip but to no avail. Noting the chain about its neck she grasped for it, the cool metal digging into her palm, and braced her feet against its hollow chest.  She yanked, pulling the necklace free, but causing no harm to the wight.

She sucked in breath of undiluted fear when a sword suddenly cleaved between the skull of the wight and its vertebrae, tearing its head from its body with a sickening snap.

The ensuing scream sent waves of adrenaline coursing through her.

Gandriel caught her easily as he dropped the blade he’d used to decapitate the wight and tucked himself around her so they went rolling out of the way of flailing bones.

That voice, the one that always lingered, screamed.

_RUN._

They both hit the base of the stairs with a resounding thud, Celeste’s hands still wrapped around the golden chain. Celeste felt Gandriel’s hands dig into the back of her dress, forcing her upright and in front of him as he shoved her up the stairs.

“MOVE!” He bellowed, pushing her ahead of him, his voice echoing loudly throughout the catacomb, above the scratching of the wights freeing themselves, the bellowing of damned souls brought to life and once again freed from the clutches of death.  
  
Not wasting a second Celeste bolted up the stairs, her boots thudding against the steps as she took them two at a time, racing towards the surface and away from the bloodcurdling screams of the wights in the tomb below  following after, their prey having narrowly escaped. Gandriel was at her heels.

They tore through the entrance of the tomb and raced across the entrance, feet skidding as they bounded around the black monolith and towards the path back to the boat. Celeste skid to a halt and threw an arm out to stop Gandriel.

From the mists wights began emerging, their hollowed eye holes locked on them as they encroached, hundreds upon hundreds rising as far as the eye could see. The moon above had dimmed nearly to darkness and Celeste felt the ground beneath her grow soft.

She glanced down, the grass darkening before her eyes.  The smell of gore and decay assaulted her nose suddenly, stinging her nostrils.  Blood was seeping up from the ground.

They were going to die here, Celeste was certain as she glanced around looking for any weapon, any line of defense—“Gandriel,” she barked, glancing over her shoulder towards the male, “your storm magi-“  
  
The spot where the male had been moments before was empty.  
  
“Gandriel?” She whipped her head around frantically, before a glimmer of gold in the distance caught her eye.  “GANDRIEL!”  
  
He was racing down the path, dodging wights and flying over fallen stones.  The spineless bastard had left her.

“You son of a bitch!” Growling in frustration Celeste turned towards the path and began racing behind the fleeing fae male, her teeth gritted, “So help me if I get my hands on you-”

Racing down the hill Celeste heard the clamoring of wights behind her giving chase, the rattling of their bones urging her to race faster. She watched as Gandriel half slid, half fell down the grassy bank and onto the beach, blood-soaked gravel and sand flying beneath his feet as he pounded towards the boat.

If he left her here . . . She shook her head driving the thoughts away, sucking in lungfuls of oxygen as she ran as fast as legs could carry her down the hillslope, he couldn’t sail, couldn’t leave this island without her.

And she’d haunt him for eternity if he did.

The wights were fast on her heels as she skidded down the slick slope towards the beach, blood splashing her boots and legs. Giving herself a wide birth, she launched herself over the array of boulders at the base of the bank and jumped down onto the beach, her knees cracking painfully as she landed, nearly colliding with Gandriel.

“What took you so long?!” Gandriel cried towards her, green tendrils of magic pushing the wights rising from the sea back, uncomfortably close to their one lifeline off the island.

“What took _me_ so long?!” Celeste hissed, diving towards a branch of driftwood on the beach and lifting it to wield as a weapon, “You left me!”  
  
“Left you? We weren’t going to survive if we stayed there!” Thick tendrils of green energy burst forth from his hand, felling wights left and right. However where one fell two more rose in its place.

“And we stand a better chance of surviving here?” Celeste snarled back, lifting her less than adequate weapon in a defensive stance as she stood back to back with Gandriel, her heart thundering in her chest and raven locks clinging to her sweat drenched face.

If they could just fight their way to the boat-

A crack sounded and Celeste felt her stomach drop as she watched the wights descend on the dinghy, snapping its mast in two and shattering the hull.  
  
“It’s over,” Gandriel breathed, his voice cracking as he stumbled back, watching as the wights surrounded them from all sides, their prey cornered, “we can’t win this one.”  
  
Without warning he turned and shoved the piece of metal into Celeste’s arms.  Desperation flared through her at the thought of dying on a deserted cursed island with the king of fools as he wrapped his arms tightly around her.

“Are you seriously giving up just like that??” Celeste seethed, tears of frustration streaming down her face as she tried to pull free from Gandriel’s grip, to try and at least protect them, to go down fighting—

A wall of green energy tore free and surrounded them, blocking the wights, buying them time, even if only for a few moments.  
  
“Well if I’m going to die at least I’ll get to die with a pretty woman in my arms,” he said with a weak attempt at a smirk.  Celeste couldn’t even bring herself to bark her protest as she thought of Anelisse abandoned in Vanica with Lukas Pennington, with no one coming to save her.   
  
She tried to swallow the fear of her impending doom when suddenly the world around her shifted and she felt the air around them vacate as they plummeted into shadow.

Several terrifying moments passed suspended in airless darkness before they went tumbling to the floor of a home, a loud crash sounding as they demolished a table on their way down.

Celeste lay shell shocked for a moment, the breath having escaped her, as she stared up at the wooden ceiling of a small apartment, the sound of crickets chirping outside.

Gandriel had winnowed them out. 


	15. The Aftermath

Celeste lay on her back for several long moments that felt like an eternity as she stared up at the warm wooden ceiling, a cool breeze dancing gently through the balmy room. Her body still quaked as her senses reoriented themselves from impending doom to casual laziness, the soft carpet beneath her an oddity amidst the reel of emotions. Nearby the song of crickets hummed away loudly.

They’d been minutes, _moments_ away from a harsh and painful death at the hands of the walking dead, not a hope in sight, their very heartbeats and breaths numbered.

Then he’d winnowed them out.

WINNOWED.  

Something he’d somehow managed to neglect to mention he could do to her during any of the frantic terror-soaked moments that had assaulted them as they’d raced out of that damned tomb with death at their heels. Something that he had failed to remember as wights had come after them in hoards, rising from the depths of the earth eager to sink their ancient blades into living flesh.

Celeste could smell the decay and rot on her, feel it seeping into her once new and lovely leather boots, the sweat still tracing down her face and body. Her senses were finally calming, her focus returning as her heart slowed from its gallop.

He had winnowed.    
  
An eerie silence filtered through Celeste’s mind, a soothing, calm, sharp clarity racing through her.

“OH by the Mother,” she heard Gandriel mutter, his labored, panicked breathing the only sound bouncing off the walls of the small room.  She heard him lift himself, hissing from where he’d collided none too gently with that poor unsuspecting table, “Thank the Cauldron and the stars-”  
  
She glanced towards him.  His sweat-soaked hair hung limply, plastered to his cheeks and neck as he lay on his stomach on top of the broken table, his arms holding him up as a quaking tremor raced down his body.

She sat up.

“Gandriel,” she began quietly, her voice ice as the energy in the room pulled taut, tension strumming through the space like a bowstring pulled tight, silencing the crickets outside.  His attention snapped to her immediately.  “When did you intend to mention you could winnow.”  
  
He looked up at her, eyes wide, the arrogant mask absent, “Winnow?” His eyebrows knotted at the center of his forehead.  “What in the hell is winnowing? How did you pop us back here?” He glanced around, his face softening at what Celeste assumed was a familiar environment, “. . . And to my apartment no less.”

Celeste couldn’t winnow, had never been able to.

Only the strongest fae could winnow. So very few were gifted with the ability, Celeste recalled, as a memory tinkering at the back of her mind of a blue-eyed boy who could do the same came to life.

“Gandriel,” she tried again, her voice lingering on the last syllable as she fixed him with a pinning stare, her nostrils flaring, “Why didn’t you tell me you could winnow?”

“I didn’t!” he hissed at her, “You must have done it, I can’t do that!” He locked gazes with her flat, penetrating stare, eyes widening slightly.  “. . . Can I?”   
  
He swallowed nervously, not breaking eye contact for even a moment and Celeste saw, for once, that his face hid nothing. He truly did not realize that he’d sent them flying through the world with nothing but a thought.    
  
A sudden look of horror flashed across his face as he dropped his head, hair brushing against the carpet, fists knotting beneath him.

“Mamá . . .” Gandriel muttered, his voice slipping into a lilting accent Celeste was not familar with, as he began murmuring, more to himself than her, in a foreign language. The syllables rolled off his tongue in smooth waves, some internal conflict prominent on his face.   
  
The male shook his head before he fixed his attention back on Celeste, “I’ve never even heard of winnowing, much less have I ever done it. But if I did that . . .” He rolled over onto his back, his large palms covering his face, “Oh Mother above.”  

The idiot literally had no idea that he could winnow, it had been pure chance, pure luck driven by his terror that had saved them.  
  
Something inside Celeste snapped.

She rose swiftly and silently onto her feet before stalking towards Gandriel, her hands hanging loosely at her sides. Before he had the chance to scramble away Celeste knotted her hands in the back of his shirt, and with a strength surprising of even a fae, threw him from the floor into the couch across the room.

He landed with a less than impressive thud, toppling over backwards and taking the couch with him.  
  
“You,” she seethed, the temperature in the room plummeting as she stalked towards him, her boots squishing uncomfortably beneath her feet as blood seeped out onto the cream carpet, a reminder of what they had just survived.  “What in the living fuck were you thinking?” she hissed, beginning to slowly circle around the toppled piece of furniture, her focus locked on his scrambling form.  “Do you have any idea what you just risked to retrieve an item you didn’t even know how to identify??”   
  
The thought of that inky black presence danced hauntingly through Celeste’s mind, the clamoring and clinking of the wights movements a song that it moved to.

What had they done?  
  
“Celeste,” Gandriel reasoned, wisely putting the couch between himself and said female as he staggered to his feet, his hands raised in front of him as though calming a wild animal, “You have to understand I didn’t know THAT was going to happen-”  
  
“And what did you _think_ was going to happen?” Celeste shot back, her hair sticking uncomfortably to her sweat-soaked dress, the useless frilly thing that nearly cost her life.  “That we’d just waltz in there, magically find whatever the hell that piece of metal was and stroll out? How did you even find that place??”   
  
The place reminded her of the horror tales that were told as ghost stories to get her into bed when she was a small child alongside Anelisse. The same stories that had her crawling under layers and layers of blankets late in the night as she watched the window in the cottage, contemplating when the real demons would come crawling out of the shadows to take her once again.

She suppressed a violent shudder.

“It was on a map,” Gandriel replied, watching her carefully, “a map designed specifically to locate objects that the user needs most.”  He rummaged through his back pocket, keeping on eye on her as though he half expected her to tear out his throat, and withdrew a small folded piece of paper, clearly charmed to keep it protected.  “It led me to that island.”

“What could you have possibly needed from there?” Celeste snarled, throwing her arms out in frustration, “Death? I could have given that to you easily enough without having to risk my own hide!”

“I needed something to break a bargain I made,” he replied coolly, unfolding the map gently, its surface plain except for the faint outline of the continents and islands.  “The map doesn’t specify the object, just the place.”  
  
“And you needed my help why?” she growled, beginning to circle around the couch towards the fool.

“Like I said before,” Gandriel cautiously kept pace with her circling, keeping the distance between them with one hand still out as though attempting to placate a furious wildcat, “it was rumored you could track it, so I figured why not. I hopped that boat intending to jump ship and sail to the island myself.  You were . . . unexpected, but Cauldron-sent nonetheless.”

Lies, she could taste them.

“You’re lying,” she hissed, moving closer towards him, he took a pace backward in time with hers to keep the distance, “You’re not telling the whole truth.”  
  
Gandriel’s face remained passive but his eyes finally flicked away from hers for a moment.  He let out a breath.  “There’s more but now’s not the time for it.”  His gaze trailed down to her hands, still quaking and trembling, and his brow knotted at the center. “You need rest.” A snarl. “We _both_ need rest, and food; you look like you’re about to keel over.”  
  
“Thanks to no help from you,” Celeste spat, recalling his taunting as Gandriel had ‘guarded’ her on the boat back from Vanica, “You’re not exactly making me want to spill your blood any less.”

Gandriel took one more step back toward the door.  “Do you really think you could retrieve your sister in this condition?” Celeste balked at the implication, even as a sliver of truth accompanied the statement. She was in no condition to travel at this point, to gut Lukas and let him bleed - “Exactly.” She dropped her gaze, her face having confirmed what Gandriel had already expected. “We’ll rest, then we’ll get your sister.”

“You swear it?” she demanded, a shiver racing up her spine.  Cauldron, just how long had it been since she’d slept adequately?  
  
He quirked a brow.  
  
She hissed.  
  
“Yes!  Yes,” Gandriel retorted loudly, his mossy golden gaze locking with her own violet as he stared down at her, thick lips pressed into a near pout, “I promise we’ll get your sister back.”  
  
Something in Celeste’s nerves shattered as she felt herself loosen, shadows of memories dancing at the edge of her mind, and exhaustion finally caved in on her like stone. She suddenly felt very lightheaded and peaky, like she needed to sit.  She wavered.

“I’m . . . tired,” she told Gandriel, a heaviness settling over her as she reached out a wobbling hand to steady herself against the couch, the lightheadedness growing.  Her eyes were still sharp as she glared at Gandriel however.  “I’ll deal with . . . this, YOU later.”  
  
The male tried to not look too relieved.   
  
“I’ll go get food,” Gandriel replied, looking more than happy to be away from Celeste.  Good, she thought, it was best he was afraid of her.  “You should rest.”  He nodded over a shoulder towards a door situated in the back of the large apartment, “There’s a bath in there, feel free to use any of the soaps, they’re there for my . . . nightly companions,” Celeste snorted in response as that insufferable smirk resurfaced.  “I’ll return shortly.”  
  
“At this hour?” Celeste had slumped to the floor, her head leaning against the toppled couch, which she noted was a lovely shade of crimson. “Where are we anyway?” She took a moment to glance around at her surroundings.  Gandriel’s apartment was notably larger than the small cottage she’d been raised in and filled with items far more expensive that she could have ever have dreamed of possessing on Vanica.

“Marchedor,” Gandriel replied as he finally, grudgingly, turned his back on her to pull off his blood-soaked boots, that trilling accent slipping through on the way he rolled his r’s. “The trade Capital between the Northern Fae Countries and the Mortal Lands. There’s always something open in the square.”

Celeste tried to ignore the tightening of her stomach, the faint nausea that always accompanied such a violent hunger. Gandriel eyed her with what might have even been concern as he tugged on a fresh set of shoes.

“Fine,” Celeste didn’t even bother arguing, the exhaustion already seeping into her violently as her eyes fluttered, heavy with sleep.  “Just be quick about it, I need to get back to Anelisse.”

“Of course,” Gandriel stood and slicked his hair back, nearly brown now from the sweat and grime, “I’ll be back shortly.”   
  
Celeste didn’t even bother watching as she heard him rustle around in a drawer, no doubt looking for money to pay for whatever food he intended to buy.  She barely registered him leaving, the door closing behind him quietly as he made off into the night.

Sleep, the sweet reprieve that she so desperately needed was so close.

The smell of death was still on her.

She groaned and rubbed at her aching eyes.

A bath, then sleep, then saving Anelisse.  She could kill Gandriel after that.  Maim the lying sack of skin and leave him out for the buzzards to pick at.

She hauled herself upright.  
\----

“Unbelievable,” Celeste nearly whispered as she took in the expansive bathing room.  It was nearly the size of the living area with a deep stone pool, hot water already steaming, whatever magic here keeping the pool full and hot. Around the pool sat a variety of candles already lit, casting the room in a golden sheen.

The prick was as flowery and over the top as he was stupid.

Some nightly company indeed.

Celeste hadn’t seen a tub like that in . . . years. It had always been buckets of water in Vanica, warmed over the fire and then used to scrub herself with a hole-filled old rag that, no matter how many times she washed it, never seemed to be completely clean.

This, in comparison . . . this was heaven.

She loosened the ties of the dress about her waist and pulled the sticky fabric from her skin with a wet squelch, the delicate fibers grimy beneath her fingers. She glanced down at the article, its once beautiful plum hue now nearly the color of dirt.

A pang of guilt strummed through her as she thought of the work Pennelope had put into it, as she thought of Anelisse alone, forced to endure Lukas-

She tossed the dress to the floor, a nearly black clump on the golden tiles.

She felt so heavy, so very heavy.   
  
Celeste gazed up at the high shelves lined with every soap imaginable, the supplies Gandriel’s various lovers used.  

She snorted at the idea as she stepped up and began rummaging through the various containers, all labeled in lovely feminine script.

Orange-lemon, gardenia, sandalwood, patchouli, rose, rose, rose . . . and another container of rose. Celeste wrinkled her nose, the strong smell of the flower escaping the bottle.   
  
Oh he was sumptuous indeed.  
  
A bit more searching produced a small bottle of milky liquid and written across its surface . . . jasmine. She plucked the bottle from the shelf, ignoring the tinkering bells of memories at the back of her mind as she ascended the few low steps into the bath.

She nearly moaned in delight as her toes tested the warm water, heat seeping into her frozen body. She quickly lowered herself into the tub, savoring the water as it thawed her icy limbs.   
  
If nothing else had come of this at least she’d been able to get a bath.

Scrubbing at her face, she worked the grime loose, the flecks of blood and earth floating away in the tub.  Celeste tried not to let her mind wander, her focus solely on cleaning beneath her shattered nails, on detangling her matted hair.

She closed her eyes, an image of seeping blood suddenly filling her vision.

Her eyes flew open, and she shuddered as the image of Anidre’s prone form filled her mind. If she’d only been loose she would have been able to save her—

She shut down the thoughts with a breath and proceeded to dunk herself beneath the water, tuning out her mind and everything around her.

Later, she could deal with it later.

\------

It was almost unfortunate the wights hadn’t killed him, Gandriel pondered as he strode through the market, because Celeste’s intent was nothing short of malicious.   He was near certain she’d rip his throat from him if given the chance. Though if the rising wights in the tomb had been any indication she’d have no issues raising him from the dead to kill him again and again either.

The old scrying glass hadn’t been wrong after all, and it sent Gandriel’s senses ablaze as he thought of those skeletons rising from the ground. She was beyond dangerous, and in his case, hopefully, beyond useful.

He hated the paranormal. Absolutely abhorred it.

But the ability to bring back the dead . . . it could work.

Gandriel passed a few copper pieces over to the stall’s owner, paying for the meat pies he’d chosen, before nodding his head and trekking back down the cobblestone road towards his Hightown apartment.   
  
The fact they hadn’t died was a miracle, an absolute miracle.

The remnants of the blinding terror that had seized him still lingered, still clung to the edges of his mind, taunting him as walked through the quiet city streets. The golden faelights illuminated the pressed stone beneath his feet in the twilight as fae and humans alike strolled to and fro in the emptying streets.

And the . . . winnowing as Celeste had called it, that had been unexpected too. He still wasn’t certain that had originated from him, but his mother had warned him many years ago-

He banished the thought.  It had to have been Celeste, he was certain.

Ascending the stairs to his apartment Gandriel pushed the door open and walked into the sight of Celeste curled up on the now-upright couch, her damp raven locks tousled around her as she lay sound asleep in his favorite shirt.

He scowled at the soaked edges of the garment he’d been so looking forward to wearing tonight.  Well, she’d certainly made herself at home.

At least she hadn’t left.

Setting the food down on the side table, Gandriel made to move towards Celeste, intending to wake her to eat.  Her bony frame and hollow cheeks hadn’t escaped him in their time together and feeding her was the least he could do after the fiasco he’d just made her endure for his benefit.  He crept quietly over to her slender frame and was considering what method of awakening was least likely to get him punched when his eyes snagged on a red mark on her back peeked out from where the sleeve of his oversized sleep shirt had slid down over her narrow shoulder.

His eyes widened as he looked more closely at that mark.

Centered in the middle of her pale shoulder was a jagged, atrocious blotch of dense scar tissue that puckered at the edges - a vicious reminder of a brutal wound. Only the top of it peeked out above the shirt and Gandriel instinctively stepped forward, narrowing his eyes on the scar, wondering just what had happened to this strange fae woman to have obtained such a mark.

He reached forward a tentative hand, just to see how far down the scar stretched-

Celeste rolled over and sharp violet eyes narrowed up at him.

He jumped and stood abruptly, tucking his hands guiltily behind his back.

“I was going to . . . um . . . wake you.” He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.  “There’s, uhh, food - meat pies,” he finished weakly, swallowing a bit nervously as he made a vague gesture toward the table.  
  
The violet eyes blinked twice, softening them and clearing their fog, before she nodded slowly and sat upright, her pale legs long and bare beneath his sleep shirt. He averted his gaze, a blush inadvertently spreading across his cheeks at the sight of so much skin.

_Smooth, Gandriel_ , he chastised himself, _Way to go_.

Celeste tentatively sniffed the air before letting out a small noise of yearning and attempted to stand, her thin legs wobbling beneath her.

“Here, sit.” Gandriel waved her back to the couch and walked to retrieve the meat pies, feeling her incredulous glare in the back of his head, grimacing as the instinctual male instinct to protect began to float to the surface.

What exactly was with this woman?  

Snatching up the pies he quickly handed one over to her, then sighed as he remembered the splintered table.  He plopped down on the poor, bloodstained carpet instead and unwrapped his own, sinking his teeth joyfully into the buttery crust.  He savored the peppered spice of the lamb, and the fact he was still around to enjoy it, before shifting his gaze to Celeste.

His pie halfway to his mouth, Gandriel watched in amazement as the small female devoured hers in moments; not a crumb dropped. He quirked a brow in amusement as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and licked her fingers, color beginning to bloom in her cheeks again.

She lazily handed the cloth wrapping back to him and flopped back down on the couch, a contented sigh slipping past her lips, completely ignorant of the fact that Gandriel had an optimal view of her . . . finer assets.

He needed to get her a blanket, for both his sake and her own.

“Tomorrow.” Celeste mumbled as she rolled towards him, her arms tucked in front of her and her form suddenly seeming so much smaller than it had in the previous days.  “Tomorrow we go get Anelisse, first thing.” Her voice was sleep ridden and Gandriel watched as she started nodding off.

He popped the last of his meat pie into his mouth before rising, brushing the crumbs from his filthy trousers with a grimace.

He was in desperate need of a bath.

“Celeste,” Gandriel prodded gently, earning a grumbling growl from the drowsy female as he opened a closet and began rummaging for a blanket, “You can have my bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.” Celeste yawned before snuggling further down in the couch, her face muffled by the cushions.

“No thanks,” she muttered, her voice barely audible, “I’d rather not contract any illnesses from you and your ‘nightly companions.’” Celeste shifted her shoulders, causing the shirt to ride up to nearly inappropriate heights.  “Nice array of flowery soaps by the way.” She yawned again, loudly.  “I noticed there wasn’t anything particularly masculine in there either. I didn’t realize you liked smelling like roses, not that I’m surprised.”  
  
Gandriel bristled and threw the blanket at her face, none too gently, before stalking off to the bathing room. 

She was such a bitch.


	16. Starfall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV's in the chapter are at the beginning of each perspective change and are bold and italicized. Hope you enjoy the chapter!

_**Feyre** _

We were late, _absolutely_ late as Rhys hurriedly flew us up to the House of Wind, the sky around us already dipping into darkness as the city lights below dimmed.

I felt the rustle of the wind through my freshly restyled hair, the original curls having been . . . mussed in Rhys and my earlier endeavors. The scant pieces of lace that my mate had bought me were hastily thrown on underneath my matching gown.

Said flimsy negligees that Rhys had slowly eased down and off of my hips, his palm encircling the tender spot at the apex of my thighs-

Heat rushed through me as I slammed down on the images.

I glanced up, shooting my mate a glare. Rhys only grinned in response, a chuckle resonating down the bond as heat stained my cheeks.

Insufferable.  
  
We’d found ourselves . . . briefly side tracked prior to the Starfall celebration.  “Briefly” equating to somewhere around three hours, I realized with a wince, if my rough calculations were to be believed.

I watched as the sun dipped beyond the horizon, Rhys’s warmth seeping into me as we swept through the chilly night air.

It wasn’t as though we’d miss the spirits though, I realized sadly, as the last of the Starfall spirits had disappeared thirteen years ago when Celeste’s young life had been snuffed out. A fitting end I supposed since it had been rumored it’d been those very spirits and their magic that had awakened the sacred lilies that had given her to us in the first place.

I felt a familiar hollowness creep into the pit of my stomach as I thought on the fact that she would have been 23.  Thirteen years without her and the wound still stung like it was new. I wondered briefly if the spirits would have still been here had she not perished.

My inner musings were interrupted as Rhys landed softly on one of the crowded balconies, the occupants moving out of the way of their High Lord and Lady as we descended onto the stone overhang. Rhys grinned down at me, the smile sending shock waves through my core and forcing my mind elsewhere as he sat me down gently, tugging at one of my loose curls.

Flirtatious ass.

I halfheartedly swatted at his hand, eliciting a warm chuckle before he gently pecked me on the cheek and turned to mosey through the crowd, no doubt looking for our second, needing to discuss matters with her regarding business on the main continent concerning the slavers who’d popped up in recent decades.

A hundred years after the war and things had improved, significantly so, but still pockets of fae and humans alike had taken to trafficking young helpless individuals. We’d deemed that it was our place to step in on behalf of Pyrthian, providing spies and hands to help in nailing down the ringleaders.  We were getting closer and closer everyday to shutting down the main trade routes, slowly stitching the rift between humans and fae back together.

I shook my head, a soft smile rising to grace my lips. We were slowly leaving the world a better place than it had been before we’d come into it.

One promise I had been able to keep.

“Well, don’t you look lovely this evening,” a warm voice chirped to my left, and my gaze drifted over to land on warm amber eyes and green skin dusted with pale powder.

“Ressina,” I greeted, smiling at my fellow painting instructor and now long-time friend, happy to have found her so quickly amongst the mulling crowd, “I’m glad to see you made it.”  
  
“Considering I had to climb up the lot of those stairs it’s a miracle my outfit’s in one piece at all.” I smiled as I looked her over, the amber colored gossamer gown she’d chosen complimenting her pale green skin nicely, a color combination that could only have be rendered and appreciated by an artist’s mind.

“Considering how pretty that dress is, I’m glad it is,” I supplied with a smile, offering a hand out to my friend.  “Shall we go find drinks? It seems like the party is already well underway.”  
  
“Sounds like a plan, partner.” Ressina cut me a grin, eyebrows wiggling, “Should I inquire why you and your mate were late this evening or should I refrain from delving into the obvious?”  
  
A blush heated my cheeks.  
  
I gently shoved at her, eliciting a cackle.  “You’re impossible.” I felt my own smile spread across my lips, tonight was indeed about celebration, it had to be so as to not lose myself in the darkness.  
  
“More like incredibly jealous,” she chirped happily, reaching her hand out to swipe up a long stem glass of sparkling rose from the refreshments table we’d just approached, “Those Illyrian males are something else, incredible really, you Archeron girls know how to pick them.”  
  
“Incredibly sensitive is more like it,” I muttered with a snort, my nose now shoved into my own glass of rose as I peered over its edge across the room and its occupants, searching for familiar faces. It wasn’t long before I picked out a familiar set of dark wings and a wobbling figure—

“How long has my son been drinking?” I inquired, raising an eyebrow at Cenric as he gripped the table for dear life as Cassian threw his head back cackling.

“Oh he’s been at it since the party started,” Ressina clicked her tongue, also raising a lovely sculpted brow to her hairline, “The lot of them have. I’m surprised he hasn’t ended up on the floor yet.”  
  
I refrained from releasing an exasperated sigh.  No one had warned me of the joys that motherhood would bring, the life and laughter and new-found desire to protect and cherish. The feeling of absolute devotion and meaning. Yet no one had warned me of the more . . . testing moments either.

Cenric belched loudly enough that I heard it from across the room. Cassian snorted and nearly dumped the bottle of amber liquid in his hands.

Motherhood indeed.

\---------------------

“Don’t tell me that’s all you can handle, pup,” Cassian slurred, a lopsided grin on his face as he slammed down two more shot glasses full of amber liquid.  Cenric had lost count at somewhere around thirteen. “I can’t give you a proper apology if you can’t hold the liquor.”  
  
Cenric didn’t deign to reply as he felt the world wobble underneath him for the umpteenth time that night and threw his hands out on the table to keep his balance.

The bright lights from the Starfall decorations reflected blindingly around him and the humming and buzzing from the evening’s guests were a whir in the back of his mind.

The black suit he’d donned earlier in the evening was now missing its jacket from where he’d slung it off somewhere around seven shots when the heat and sweat had become unbearable, he now only remained in a silk black button down and his pants, his shoes having vanished around shot eleven.

Rule number one of partying with Cassian, Cenric could practically see his father’s deep violet eyes twinkling in amusement as he’d prepared to winnow from the Riverside Estate alongside his aunt and uncle, don’t let him pour the liquor lest you want to puke your guts up for the following week.

Cassian had snorted and told his father that he was being dramatic and to “let the boy live a little.”

That advice had fallen on deaf ears when Cassian had passed him three shots at the beginning of the party in the House of Wind to toast to his “former ass kickings and future successes.”

Future successes in vomiting his guts up were more like it.

Cenric gave the amber glass, or rather glasses in his vision, a sidelong glance before snorting and swiping it up and throwing backwards down his throat, the liquid burning like hell as it trailed down his esophagus.

What harm were a few more?

“That’s my boy!” Cassian cheered, his uncle’s massive hand slamming into his shoulder in acknowledgement, rattling his near limp form.  A few shouts of encouragement escaped the small crowd that had gathered around the small table centered between a few cushioned seats.  “I knew you had a better tolerance than your siss of a father.”  
  
“If I recall correctly,” a midnight voice chortled from across the table, Azriel’s sharp hazel eyes narrowed on his nephew’s wavering form, significantly less drunk than the other two, “you’ve never beaten our dear High Lord in a drinking contest.”  
  
Cassian shot Azriel a killer look accompanied by a less than polite gesture.

Azriel’s lips quirked at the corners, his arms propped behind him and one ankle crossed over a knee from where he sat on the large chaise lounge, the spot next to him vacant from where Elaine had trailed off to find more food and spare herself from her nephew’s inevitable alcohol poisoning.  
  
Cenric slammed the glass on the table loudly before pushing himself upright and letting out a snort of amusement, consequences be damned. His only goal was to keep his feet beneath him for the remainder of the night, to not think about . . . her.

He barred her memory away in his mind, a delicate ivory box that he would only open when he was in the condition to remember.

“That’s cause Dad’s the . . . best,” Cenric slurred with a hiccup, his shaggy black hair sticking to his skin, what was he doing here again?

 Right . . . drinking, Starfall, not falling over-  
  
“Oh my,” a rich feminine voice trilled beside him, Mor’s red dress flashing in his peripherals, “You left Cassian in charge of the alcohol didn’t you.”  A tentative sniff.  “Oh yes, most definitely Cassian’s work.”

Those bright brown eyes landed on the shadowsinger across the table, mirth brimming over their edges. “And I see you did a wondrous job of keeping it under control.” A playful teasing.

Azriel only shook his head and sipped at the amber liquid is his own glass, casting an amused glance at Cenric, “He’s an adult, he can make his own choices.”  
  
“Choices that are likely to earn him an ass kicking from his mother,” Cenric registered a gentle hip bump that nearly sent him tumbling as the room around him blurred. “Not that you’re exactly the pinnacle of a role model.” Mor cut Cassian a dry look that elicited a snort from the General, then eyeballed the liquor on the table, contemplating, resolving some inner conflict.

“Anyway, you two don’t know how this is done,” she quipped, pouring herself a knuckles’ length before throwing it back in her throat without hesitation.  “I’ll drink you both under the table.”

“You’re on!” Cassian produced a broad grin, his teeth flashing in the light as he propped an elbow on the table reaching for the bottle of liquor—

A soft hiss sounded as Nesta approached the table, her onyx gown flowing like liquid night on the floor, the bodice tight and low cut in the back.  “Why am I not surprised.” She cut Cassian a look.  “Though if you’re so inclined to drink yourself to death I might as well stay and enjoy the show.” Cenric blinked blearily as her icy eyes landed on him, looking him over. “And you, my boy, have had enough.”  
  
Cenric snorted, ignoring his hellcat of an aunt and wiggled fingers towards the bottle his uncle had just poured from.  “Not your call,” he chirped, his voice beyond slurred, whatever he had intended to drink away having slipped away as the alcohol fuzzed his mind.

“He’s fine Nes,” Cassian replied, waving a hand and shuffling off his mate, “He’s the same age Az, Rhys and I were when we started having such binges.”  
  
“It’s no surprise then really where all of those brain cells of yours went,” Nesta responded coolly, watching as Cenric fumbled for a glass, something simmering in her eyes at the sight, “I’d prefer you not drag the rest of the world down with your idiocy.”

Cassian ignored her.  
  
Cenric dumped the shot glass.

Nesta only lifted a brow before striding over to the chaise lounge adjacent to the one Azriel occupied and sitting down, her steely gaze remaining on her nephew.  
  
Cassian poured another round of shots and he, Cenric and Mor clinked glasses and threw the liquid back.

\------------------

**_Rhysand_ **

I moved through the crowd offering greetings and smiles to the people of Velaris, all dressed in their finery and laughing merrily as they reached out and clasped hands with me or offered small bows.

I caught site of a familiar dark head perched in the lap of a white-haired male, laughing at something the latter must have said.

“Rhysand,” Amren greeted with a feral grin, her silver eyes landing on my face as she quirked her head ever so slightly, “I see you deigned to join us.”  
  
“Feyre and I were busy attending to Night Court duties,” I purred.  
  
“I’d hardly consider fucking Night Court duties,” she snorted with sidelong glance, Varian choking on his drink as the words left his lover’s mouth, eyes wide.  “If you’re going to lie about it at least make it more believable.”

I could only offer her a grin in response.

She didn’t deign to reply, her attention directing to her manicured nails.

“Any news from Lucien?” I inquired, shoving my hands into my pockets. In the time since the war Lucien had been engulfed into the family, though he still claimed himself a part of Spring since his and Tamlin’s reconciliation decades prior.

We’d allied with Spring those many years ago when the Queens struck out against the failing borders of Spring and the patchwork human realm south of the wall and we’d had to push back their efforts.

Our ties with Spring were still . . . tense, but civil. Trying to get Feyre and I to remain more than an hour in a room with Tamlin was a miracle but one we somehow managed at the now annual meeting of the High Lords, an alliance that had brokered peace and protection for the newly formed kingdom to the south.

Somehow Helion still had yet to make the connection of Lucien’s link to him.

“None,” Amren replied, sipping from a long-stemmed glass of the reddest wine, her now favored substitution to her former diet. “Apparently the leads Lucien had picked up on went silent in the Southern Seas, some storm wiped them out on a trip to some remote location.”  
  
“Less work for us then,” I replied, hearing the murmuring of the crowd begin to quiet. I glanced over my shoulder to see a dark-haired female walk to the far edge of the room where the instruments for the night’s musicians stood.

“It appears we’re about to have a show,” Amren mused, crossing one leg over the other while still in Varian’s lap, “I don’t believe I’ve seen her before.” Her red-painted lips tilted downwards, eyes squinting.  
  
Something about the woman set off bells in my mind, something familiar about the sharp features and the dark hair.

“I didn’t realize you’d invited new musicians,” Amren inquired, still staring intently at the female.  
  
“I didn’t.” I answered, watching the woman step to the center of the room, garnering everyone’s attentions. A pale gown flowed down her slender form and her long dark hair flowed over her ears and down her slim back.  
  
“Perhaps she’s one of the new apprentices in the artist’s quarter,” Varian supplied, wrapping a muscular forearm tighter around his lover’s waist, watching the woman as she ran a hand down the length of the tall harp erected at the center.

“Maybe,” I murmured, my brows knitting at the center of my forehead as I ran through the familiar faces of the local musicians who I interacted with.

“Well,” Amren said with a feral grin, the animalistic side of her still prominent as ever, “I guess we’ll just have to watch and see.”

\---------------

_**Feyre** _

“If I may,” A soft sweet soprano voice chimed above the crowd, directing everyone’s focus to the front of the room, where a small fae woman stood.

I did not recognize her.

I looked to Ressina, confusion dancing across her jade face.

It seemed as though even she had no idea who the dark-haired female was who now stood beside a large harp, her shoulders back and dark eyes roaming across the room.

The music was not scheduled to have begun for another hour.

The woman turned towards me, her brown eyes nearly black as she bowed once.

All murmuring had stopped as silence permeated the room.

 _Who is she?_ I chimed down the bond, the question reverberating between us.  
  
A pause _. I’m not certain_ , Rhys responded, turning his gaze from her to me.  
  
“A gift,” she began, locking eyes with mine, her sharp features rough-hewn, before turning her attention to Rhys across the room from us watching her, “for my High Lord and Lady on this lovely evening of Starfall.”

She gave a small bow before lowering herself onto the padded stool and plucking at the strings of the harp, the tune slow and haunting.

The bond had gone silent, tense, quaking.

Disbelieving whispers rushed through the crowd but went quiet as the woman began to pick out a more steady, dreary tune.

I noticed from the corner of my eye a shuffling of wings and flowing red as the rest of our family turned their attention to the unexpected performance.

Silence rippled through the crowd as music thrummed through the air, its slow melody tilting and heavy, the thrum of the strings near weeping. The lovely fae woman sat before the harp, delicate fingers plucking as she began to sing-

 _T’was down in that garden of lilies,_  
_Where he and the little girl did meet,_  
_Eyes of violet stone and hair a night black sheet,_  
_Born of fortune and wealth was that dame,_  
_Oh yes everyone did know ‘er name._

Something in my stomach clenched as I heard the sorrowful voice echo across the room, an image of a bright eyed little girl flaring to life in my mind and picking at a puckered wound still healing in my heart.

 _From heaven said star was graced,_  
_Blessed with beauty was that fair face,_  
_Each a gift to go hand and hand,_  
_A darling lady born to lead the land._

I wasn’t sure I was breathing as I felt Ressina’s hand slip into my own clammy one.

Something nagged at me, _wrong, wrong_ it repeated.

Something wasn’t right.

 _As they spoke whispers of summer roses and thyme,_  
_Off to slumber the small one did sleep,_  
_A bane bottle in his pocket did he keep,_  
_The small dear one she did not know_  
_So he poisoned that dear little girl_  
_Down under the banks below._

My heart stopped in my chest.  
  
I barely registered Amren rising from her position in Varian’s lap and striding to my mate’s side, her eyes narrowing as she watched the woman with a predatory intensity.

Rhys had gone utterly still, his eyes wide and lips thin.

 _Atop her head she bore a heavy crown,_  
_Her sire’s sins which weighed it down,_  
_In the moonlight of the night,_  
_Her pale skin not marred by the sun,_  
_Oh the kings brother did know what’d he’d done._

The talons of emotions that I had long since smoothed into submission reared up and slashed at the chains that held my self-control intact, the chains that kept my feelings contained, that prevented me from the full on slaughter of the people who had ripped my youngest away from me.

I felt fire begin to dance in my veins, screaming for release, the sweet caress of eternal darkness demanding to be set free.

Everyone had gone deathly still in the crowd, their faces wan and features pinched as though in pain.

I bit down on the flame and darkness, forcing myself to take control, there were too many innocents that would be caught in the crossfire-

 _Through her wings a saber drawn,_  
_Severing the ties to right her father’s wrong_  
_Into the ocean dropped was she,_  
_That fair little girl taken by he._

Nesta had moved up beside Cassian, her face white with rage as she locked eyes on the singing woman. Elaine was tucked into Azriel’s side, her face pale as she gripped the shadowsinger’s arm, tears sliding down her cheeks.

The twin to the ones streaming down my own.  
  
_Our king spoke the words,_  
_That honor would set us free,_  
_If he would murder that dear little girl_  
_Who named Celeste was she_

I heard a sharp crunch and shot my attention to the left; Cenric had crushed the glass in his hand, the sound of his uneven breathing clear across the room.

Mor sent a worried glance towards her nephew, sobriety having already begun to take hold with the sudden change of tone.

 _My king sits, awaiting our beck and call,_  
_The martyr to rise then take the fall,_  
_Biding his time to rise to the sky,_

_For only his brother soon shall walk  
To yonder scaffold high _

Her features, they were so familiar but so unlike anything I’d seen in Velaris—

She bore no wings, but the features, the carefully hidden round ears and sharp cheekbones, I should have known instantly . . .  

She was Illyrian.

_The scaffold now waits for he_

Nesta was moving across the room, a black blur of fabric as she cut through the crowd.  
  
_For the prince did murder that dear little girl  
Who named Celeste was she._

The woman finished the last note as Nesta’s hand wrapped around her arm and jerked her upright, hissing.

“Who in the hell are-”  The woman spat in her face, expertly twisting out of my sister’s hold and shoving her back. Cassian was at her side in an instant along with Azriel and Mor, creating a protective wall between the woman and the crowd beyond.  
  
The woman stood before squaring her shoulders and staring our Court down.

“My name is Serys.  I was the wife of one of the soldiers you let die in the great war,” she growled, her dark eyes narrowing as she took in the crowd, “And I am the messenger sent to tell you our King will still rise.”

 _King._  
  
Something oily pooled in my stomach as my mind raced back to a dark-haired young warrior who had challenged Rhys’s reign over the Illyrians years ago and had nearly walked out the victor.

A young man who had once been considered an ally, a younger brother of sorts to Cassian and Azriel.  
  
Someone who had vanished into void after Celeste’s capture.  
  
I thought this had ended, this rebellion and turmoil that had festered so violently in the Illyrian Steppes, that had cost Cassian countless soldiers and families who had willingly died defending their backwards traditions-  
  
“Your reign of pain and anguish will end,” She pointed at Rhys, who stood frozen to the spot, his face drained entirely of color, “and it started with your daughter. THAT was the price you paid for your crown-”

I felt the flinch race down the bond as the words escaped the woman’s mouth, like a slap to the face. The guilt seeping violently like a torrent of hell from Rhys.

I bared my teeth.

 “You will all pay for the lives you stole,” her eyes shifted over to Azriel and Cassian, lip curling in disgust, “even you bastard-born nobodies and the monstrosities you call lovers-”  
  
Out of the corner of my eye, before the woman, Serys, could finish her tirade, I saw Cenric straighten, his cobalt eyes shimmering with rage.  
  
I had only seen fury like that once before, in the eyes of his father.  
  
No one could react quickly enough as a snarl tore from my son’s throat and in the blink of an eye, with a wave of unchecked power that sent even my senses reeling, he blasted the wingless Illyrian female to ash.


	17. The Messenger

_(Feyre)_

_I stood in a garden, brown vines full of razor-sharp thorns winding their way up the wrought iron fence that encircled the plot. They wrapped tightly around the posts, choking all life from the barren scene. The garden was withered and dead, as though it were in the grip of deep eternal winter._

_At the garden’s center stood a great tree, tall and rambling, its branches warped and twisted toward the matte grey sky above, bark peeling and pale._  
  
_I took a step forward, glancing about, the dead grass crunching beneath my bare feet. There was no sound, not even a breath of wind whistling through the tree’s brittle branches._

_Where was I?_

_I hesitantly walked through the remains of the garden, the flatness and lack of color melding into an unending scene of desolation. The air was cold, nearly freezing, the chill sending shivers dancing up my spine. Where the Dead Go for Slumber was the name of the painting that flitted through my mind._  
  
_I stepped over a pile of worn rubble, the grey surface washed and brittle from the passage of time._

_A shift beneath the rubble caught my eye and I paused as I watched a graceful serpentine shape emerge. A black snake with glittering iridescent bands of blue and silver slithered past peacefully and twined its way towards the edge of the garden._

_I followed._

_It swept silently across the yellowed grass, its body rippling like storm dark water. I watched as it slid down a slight incline in the garden that tapered into a flat dirt plot._

_As I stepped down onto the cool dry soil I watched the snake slide around the back of three headstones, each grey and weathered to smoothness. No names adorned their surfaces and dead vines wrapped about the markers, all brittle and crumbling to dust._

_Except for one green bloom wrapped around a single headstone, the middle one._

_As I approached it, the bloom twitched and slowly flared to life, its petals a soft cream with veins of deep vibrant plum. I’d know those flowers anywhere._

_A night lily._

_Stepping forward, I knelt and reached a tentative hand out to brush against the flower but stopped as a small caterpillar appeared from behind the bloom. Its fuzzy body crawled to the top of the lily, happily munching on one of the few green leaves surrounding it.  A honeybee buzzed close by._

_The bee, noticing my attention, whirled around the lily thrice before shooting off to the large tree where a red cardinal sat, watching. The only signs of life in the dead garden._

_I heard the crunching of grass and a giggle._

_My heart froze, I knew that sound._  
  
_“Celeste?” I turned around quickly only to catch a glimpse of a pale foot racing around a dead bush.  I stood, turning from the lily, and quickly followed after._  
  
_The slight giggle and soft pad of footsteps led me across the garden to a dark patch of ground that faded into darkness._

_A cave._

_Seven black ravens sat around the edges of the entrance, watching my approach._  
  
_Carefully I jumped down into the darkness, following after Celeste. My landing was near silent as I rose and took in my surroundings. It was no cave, I realized, but a long tall long corridor, laid with smooth gray stones, somehow familiar to me._

_“Momma!” I heard her voice calling me, giggling and echoing down the dark corridor I stood in, the torches flaring to life as I started down the stone path, searching._

_“Celeste?” I called out tentatively, my voice reverberating around me in the hollow, stale air.  Where was she?_

_“Mom-ma,” She enunciated the syllables, the way she always had when she wanted my attention.  Another giggle and the swishing of fabric.  “Where are you?”_  
  
_“Celeste!” I cried out, now racing down the smooth stone path, my heart thundering my ears as I rushed towards that tinkering sound, that lovely bell-like trill I had nearly forgotten. I had to find her, had to bring her home._  
  
_“I’m over here momma!” Another giggle and scuffling of feet resounding down an expansive hallway to my left, the flash of onyx hair catching in the torch light._

_“Celeste!” I cried again sliding around the corner, slamming painfully into the wall before righting myself and pursuing.  “Celeste, come here, please. We need to go home-”_

_I heard a gasp and a growl._

_Followed by a scream that could rival a banshee._

_My blood froze._

_I flew down the length of the corridor, the torches dimming as I moved. Not this time, I wouldn’t let them take her this time._

_The hallway tapered into a narrow set of stairs, sending me down, down, down into the earth. I took them two at a time._

_I skidded to a stop, my eyes and senses searching for her presence-_

_The stairs ended in a vast empty room, a single pedestal at its center and on it-_

_Celeste._

_And behind her lay two great beasts, their size nearly tenfold of Celeste. One had fur in a silken shade of white, shimmering like star-flecked snow.  It stretched its great paws out, arching its powerful back.  The face was lupine but the eyes entirely feline, sharp and cunning as they watched me. The beast’s tail gave a tentative flick._

_The second beast was the dark mirror to the first, jet black fur rippling like liquid night, and from its great shoulders flowed dark membranous wings. One was strewn carelessly across the large pedestal, draping to the floor, while the other wrapped gently around Celeste._

_“Momma!” She sat cross legged on the grey slab, her violet eyes wide and tear stained cheeks pink as she reached out a hand for me, “Will you come sit with me?”_  
  
_The air rushed from my lungs._

 _There, she was there._  
  
_I stepped forward, my heart thundering._

 _We could go home.  
  
Like dust on the wind the great beasts dissolved into ash and shadow, a cloud flitting and forming behind Celeste. _ Move _, the instinctual voice inside me screamed as I felt myself suddenly paralyzed, unable to produce even a twitch._ You have to move.

_A strangled cry escaped my lips._

_The cloud continued to grow, swirling and menacing behind Celeste. She tilted her head like a tiny bird, her lips puckering in confusion. “Do you not want me, Momma?”_  
  
_It felt like knives piercing my heart as I fought against the paralysis, trying to speak, to move, to convey that I wanted her more than anything._

_Her face deflated as she glanced off to the side. “Is that why you got rid of me?” She fixed those violet eyes on me, the twin to her father’s._

Never, _I wanted to scream,_ I would never get rid of you.  
  
_“Oh,” she murmured at my lack of response, silver drops pooling at the edge of those large almond eyes. I screamed as I slammed against the power binding me, demanding it release me._  
  
_The shadow solidified more, taking on the shape of yet another beast, its sharp teeth elongating as it opened its mouth._

Now, now, now, _that voice chanted, willing me to get loose, to get to her,_ You’re out of time.  
  
_Her eyes stayed fixed on me, hand still outreached._

 _“Momma?”_  
  
_The shadow moved behind her still, amorphous and smoky.  The hair on my arms rose._

_Now, I had to move now. I fought against the binding, felt it begin to bend beneath my will.  It snapped._

_“Celeste-” I threw my hand out._  
  
_The shadow stopped and swirled once, the embodiment of void._

 _It pounced._  
  
_Celeste could barely scream as it pulled her into itself._

 _“NO!”_  
  
_Not again._

_I barreled for the shadow, racing against time and odds to reach it, to reach Celeste-_

_The shadow vanished._

_The room was suddenly cold, and entirely empty. I was alone, entirely alone. I’d lost her.  I felt the sob build in my chest, if I had only moved faster, acted faster-_

_A knife was instantly pressed to my throat.  I froze, releasing a ragged breath._

_A chuckle, deep and full of hatred echoed throughout the empty chamber, the slight tapping of booted feet approaching._

_I knew who he was before he stepped out of the shadows, his black eyes watching me with disdain._

_“Hello, High Lady,” the King of Hybern purred as he strode towards me, “you and I, we have much to discuss.”_

_Red flashed in my peripherals._

_Fear froze me.  Not her, anyone but her-_

_Amarantha.  It was Amarantha._

_Her dark eyes glimmered as she pressed the knife into my throat, her pearl-white teeth flashing in the darkness._

_“Hello, Mother.”_

\----------------  
  
I shot up.

Sweat drenched my body as I sat there panting. I was safe, I reminded myself, safe. I ran my hands over my face, calming my ragged breathing.

It was only a dream, I realized, a hollowness creeping into my chest as I rubbed at my face once more.  Amarantha wasn’t there, the King of Hybern wasn’t there, Celeste wasn’t-

My hands dropped to the silken sheets beneath me, the pale light of the moon streaming in through the cabin’s windows and casting the room in a sheer white sheen.  The soft sound of the wind blowing outside rustled along the edges of the cabin.

 _Are you all right?_ I felt the question spear down the bond, and the sweet caress of night brushed against my senses. I shuddered in relief as I pushed against it, reminding myself it was still there.

 _Yes,_ I murmured down the bond to my mate, _it was just a dream_.

Silence.

 _I love you_ , I felt the words dance down the bond, the underlying tones of guilt and sorrow poorly hidden.

Rhys had not taken the Starfall incident well.

The sheer amount of guilt and shame that had cascaded through the bond had been stifling and to see the look of failure on his face had nearly driven me to insanity.  
  
He had hidden it well, and someone else likely wouldn’t have noticed the slight tell-tale signs that had me roaring in agony and frustration. But to me, I knew, knew exactly how deeply Serys’ words had cut, how viciously they had splayed open his emotions and ransacked them.

He should have been the one resting at the cabin while I was out trying to piece together what in the hell had happened. But Cenric-

My attention shot to the open door of my bedroom and across the hallway to the other room. A small snore echoed throughout the cabin and my body instantly went lax.

 _How is he?_ I felt Rhys inquire, those dark talons brushing gently, lovingly against my adamant walls.

 _He’s fine_ , I assured my mate, rising from the bed and making my way to the hallway.   _Sound asleep.  I’m about to go check on him._

My son who had obliterated that woman with less than a thought, who had immediately hit his knees in sorrow in the House of Wind when the gravity of what he had done and what had happened hit him.

Mocked, the Illyrians had _mocked_ his sister’s death. Had composed a gruesome tune detailing her demise and had performed it all on the night of her birthday. Serys had deserved every ounce of power that had been directed at her, that had obliterated her into dust.

No, he hadn’t been sorry for killing that woman, but to lose his control like that . . .

It was what he feared most.

A sigh slipped through my lips as I cracked the door to the second bedroom in the cabin open and strolled in to find my sleeping son, his arms wrapped around a pillow and his face buried in the mattress.

I forgot sometimes, I realized as I walked up to him, the smell of smoked cedar and pine soap lingering in the air, how small he still looked when he was asleep, how young. I sat down tentatively and reached over, gently running my fingers through his freshly washed locks.

He was still so young.

Older than I was when I was thrown into peril and turmoil yes, but by fae standards . . . he was still a fledgling.

One that I would give everything and destroy everything to protect.

Woken by my touch, Cenric’s dark lashes twitched and he blearily blinked cobalt eyes up at me, two shades bluer and darker than his father’s.  
  
“Go back to sleep,” I told him as he rose up onto his elbows, smoothing his hair down and stroking his cheek.  “Get some rest, it’s okay.”  
  
He blinked his eyes once, slightly squinting them before flopping back down onto the mattress, his face pressed against my knee.  
  
“I love you, Mom,” he muttered quietly against the mattress, instantly falling back to sleep as the effects of the alcohol faded and sobriety sank back in. He’d have a hell of a hangover in the morning but he was safe and one piece. The only thing that mattered.

 I sat there for a few moments before rising and slipping out of the room, silently shutting the door behind me. The tendrils of a headache danced at the back of my skull as I moved towards the kitchen.  I needed tea desperately.

Things had dissolved into absolute chaos after Cenric had misted Serys, the people of Velaris near bolting their attempts to escape the House of Wind.

\---------

_“Bitch,” I heard Cassian growl as he turned to Rhys, his hazel eyes narrowed and wings flaring as he made for the balcony, “I’m heading to the Steppes.”_

_I was kneeling next to Cenric, his form quaking in my grasp as I watched the aftermath unfold, screams and thundering footsteps a fading throb in the distance as guests raced for the staircase._  
  
_“No, you will not,” Rhys barked, sending a pointed look at his General and brother-in-arms. We all knew what Cassian would do if given the chance to head to the Steppes at this hour. Instead, Rhys sent a look at Azriel who squeezed Elaine’s hand before disappearing into shadow. “I need you to help me secure the House of Wind now.”_

_Cassian opened his mouth to protest, sobriety already having returned, when Rhy’s cut him off._

_“Cassian,” he nodded over his shoulder, “we have no idea who got in or what they’re planning, we’ve got to secure here before we do anything else.”_  
  
_Cassian looked tempted to throw something at Rhys but relented as he quickly strode towards the back hallway, tucking his wings in as he palmed a fighting knife from its hidden scabbard. Cassian was never without some steel on him, none of us were anymore._

_“Nesta,” Rhys turned his attention to my sister, his violet eyes locking with her own icy blue. She gave a short nod._

_“I’m already on it.” She began stalking out after her mate, her onyx gown dragging behind her as she jogged to catch up to the much larger warrior._

_“Take him home,” Rhys said gently as he walked over to where I had rushed to my son’s side after he had hit his knees. My mate reached down and rubbed Cenric’s shoulders gently. “We’ll take care of this here.”_  
_I was half-tempted to argue, but looking at Cenric, at the way he clung to me in desperation . . . I knew where I was needed._

_I locked eyes with my mate.  “Send word if you find anything.” Rhys knelt down and wrapped his arms around both Cenric and me._

_“I will,” he assured me, kissing me gently on the cheek before rising and disappearing down the halls, following after Nesta and Cassian to scout the House of Wind, to see who or what was hiding._

_“Mom,” Cenric gasped, gripping me tightly, I could smell the salt on his face, “I-I’m sorry.” The taste of ash swirled in my mouth, fire fighting its way to the surface. I sent a tendril of solid ice to meet it, soothing it, placating it for the time being._  
  
_“It’s okay,” I soothed him as I helped him stand, the smell of booze nearly overwhelming as I got him to his feet. “It’s going to be okay. Let’s go home.”_  
  
_“I’m sorry,” he repeated breathlessly, tears leaking from his eyes. “I just couldn’t . . . they took her.”_  
  
_“I know.”  I wrapped my son’s muscular arm around the back of my shoulders and held him steady. Mor quickly slipped up on the other side and braced a gentle hand on her nephew’s back, her brown eyes hard._

 _“I will finish this,” he growled, near stumbling as we walked across the room.  Ressina was still ushering guests out of the doorway and into the cool, crisp night air as Amren and Varian took the lead on protecting people and escorting them back to Velaris. “I will settle this at the rite, with all of them.”_  
  
_“I know,” I soothed him, walking to the balcony’s edge, “I know.”_  
  
_Stepping beyond the wards we winnowed._

_\-------_

_Is everyone all right?_ I asked down the bond as I walked down the short hallway to the living area, contemplating.

 _Yes,_ Rhys responded, _We saw to it that everyone returned home safely_.

 _What about Elaine?_ My mind shifted to the image of Azriel disappearing into shadow, no doubt headed for the Illyrian Steppes.

 _With Nuala and Cerridwen_. I felt a phantom brush of a chill wind across my face; Rhys was no doubt flying. _They’re staying in the townhouse tonight_.

 _Good_ , I responded, then paused, my eyes lingering on the paintings that adorned the cabin walls. _Did you find anything?_ I asked, not entirely certain I wanted the answer.

 _In the House of Wind? Nothing,_ Rhys replied.   _As for Azriel…Devlon sent word from the Steppe’s there’s…unease but we should talk about it in person, and Cassian . . ._ There was a pause then finally, _Cassian just finished taking them down. We’re burning them._

I thought back to the sign we’d found on the house when Mor and I had winnowed Cenric home.

The addition of insult to injury that the rebels had left.

\-------

_“What in the actual burning fires of hell,” Mor hissed as she took in what was pinned to front of the Riverside Estate, her hand still bracing her nephews back. I glanced up and felt Cenric stiffen at my side, his breathing turning ragged as I felt him gag._

_“Don’t look,” I told him, tugging him closer into my side. Absolute disgust raced through me as I beheld what was before me._

_Wings._

_Across the front of the Riverside Estate a set of wings were pinned, Illyrian wings with a fine line tracing down the inner membrane.  Wings from a clipped female._

_Cenric was silent as he dug his hand into my shoulder and kept his eyes downcast._

_They’d infiltrated our home too._

_I took a deep breath and tore my eyes away as I turned to Mor.  “We’ll go to the cabin.” I flinched as the scent of who the wings belonged to assaulted my nose.  Serys.  “The house isn’t secure and none of us are in any shape to check.”_  
  
_“Understood.” Mor grabbed my hand as I tightened my hold on Cenric and we went flying through the night._

_\---------_

I walked out into the kitchen, the water in the pot already boiling thanks to the magic that tended to the cabin.  I poured myself a cup of tea and turned towards the living area.

Deep, even breathing caught my ears and I snorted at the lump of red tucked into the worn cushions of the couch.

Mor was fast asleep.

Some watch she had been.

I resisted the urge to grin as I set down my teacup and opened up the closet, pulling some linens and a blanket loose before gently laying them over our third.

She didn’t rouse.

Lifting my tea cup again I sat down tentatively on the edge of the arm of the couch and stared into the dark liquid. This wasn’t over, not by a long shot. I sipped at the steaming cup and felt the tension in my head ease, a small relief in comparison to the inevitable headache that was surely soon to follow.

Serys had sacrificed her wings, cut them off completely just to make a point.

That type of devotion . . .

My hands wrapped more tightly around the cup in my hands, the porcelain beneath protesting against the strain.

We’d seen it once, I realized with no small amount of horror when I thought back on the challenges we’d faced over the last centuries with the Illyrians. The type of devotion that lead to broken families and the deaths of innocent children.

 I released the tight grip on my cup and looked over to Mor who had finally snuggled down into the blanket I had laid over her.  We would not see it again.

No matter the cost.


	18. Pancakes and Blood Pacts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Thank you for all of the comments, this is going to be a pretty extensive story so I hope you all stick around for it! :)

The smell of burning batter and a flurry of curses roused Celeste from her deep slumber. The putrid stench wafted through the apartment as her eyes fluttered open, her mind trying to orient itself to her location.

Right, she was in Marchedor, the trade capital on the main continent between the human and fae lands, asleep on some useless male’s couch.

Said useless male was currently cursing up a storm in the kitchen, the sound of clattering dishes resounding throughout the living space. 

How had she gotten into this situation again?

Celeste was half tempted to fall back off into slumber as she nestled down into the soft warmth of the thick blanket around her, the luscious cashmere lulling her into remaining.  
  
A loud smash followed by what Celeste assumed was a particularly vicious curse in that language Gandriel spoke chased slumber from her mind completely and she groaned into her pillow.

So much for more sleep.

Celeste rolled onto her feet, freeing herself from the velvety-soft blanket and let out a long yawn, stretching her arms above her head.  She cocked her head and squinted briefly at the few tendrils of gray smoke inching under the low-hanging archway that led into the kitchen before making her way there herself. Turning the corner, she came face to face with Gandriel and could do nothing more than gape for a moment at the apocalyptic scene before her.

“What in the Cauldron’s name are you doing?” Celeste inquired, her eyes widening as she took in the sight of the blond-haired male splayed across the granite countertop, a spoon in one hand and a half-full bowl of batter in the other, mere inches from the floor.  The other half of the bowl’s contents spilled down the sides of the counter and dripped sluggishly to the tile.

Smoke was billowing up from the stove, whatever he had been cooking burnt to a crisp.

“Cooking?” A blush flushed across Gandriel’s cheeks as he straightened and hopped off the counter, narrowly avoiding the pooling puddle of what Celeste assumed was pancake batter.

“I’m not sure I’d qualify this as cooking.”  She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe, quirking an eyebrow and nodding toward the hissing pan. Noticing his distressed bit of charcoaled batter, Gandriel slammed down the bowl before racing to the stove, using his spoon to scrape futilely at the deflated piece of dough clinging to the bottom of the pan.

Celeste had to blink.

He was using a spoon to flip pancakes.

She couldn’t suppress the eyeroll.

Unfolding her arms from across her chest, she watched as Gandriel flipped the burned piece of bread onto a plate. He reached for the batter bowl, shoving the spoon into the base of it and rapidly stirring, sloshing batter over the edges and across his shirt.

Celeste noticed there was batter in his hair.

Shaking her head, she braved stepping fully into the kitchen and noticed a thin black object out of the corner of her eye. The useless artifact they had risked their lives for was laying on the counter, covered in pancake batter.  She deadpanned, swiping the piece of metal up and running her hands down its dented surface, nothing more than scrap.

“I tried selling it this morning,” Gandriel said, watching Celeste as he flipped yet another burnt attempt at a pancake out of the pan. “No one wanted it, at least not for more than 10 coppers.  I figured I should try to get a bit more out of since we risked so much obtaining it.”

With a sloshing motion the male dumped nearly half the remaining batter in the bowl into the newly emptied pan, nearly filling it to the brim, before resting the bowl back on the counter and poking at the batter with the wooden spoon.

Celeste set down the piece of scrap metal, her patience gone.

“For fuck’s sake,” she growled, ripping the spoon from Gandriel’s hands in an attempt to save his most recent victim, its lumpy surface bubbling sluggishly from the heat.

“Hey!” he yelped as she shoved herself between him and the unsuspecting stove, evaluating the likelihood of saving the poor monstrous pancake cooking unevenly in the pan, “I was doing just fine.”  
  
“This,” she pointed the spoon at the burned black shriveled bit on the plate, “isn’t cooking, this is a crime. Go find somewhere and sit down.” The current “pancake” was beginning to swell at the top and over the sides of the pan.

“My cooking is not a crime,” Gandriel pouted, looking over Celeste’s shoulder as she dumped the half-burned, half-doughy pancake onto the plate, declaring it a loss, “and that’s not cooked all the way.”  
  
“There’s no saving it,” Celeste shot back, depositing the spoon back into his waiting hand and began rummaging through the drawers, looking for a spatula.  “Didn’t I tell you to go sit down?”

“ _Didn’t I tell you to go sit down?_ ” Gandriel mocked in a high-pitched voice, waving the spoon around as he walked towards the small table on the far side of the kitchen, “See if I cook for you again, bossy female.”  
  
Celeste didn’t deign to reply as she finally found and pulled a spatula free from the farthest drawer, frowning as she blew dust from its surface. Stepping back to the pan she carved off a small piece of butter from the clump sitting next to the stove and tossed it into the pan, its sizzling humming through the room.

She poured an appropriate amount of batter into the pan and sat the bowl back down, pushing her dark curtain of hair over a shoulder.

It had been years but at least she still remembered how to cook pancakes.

“That’s my favorite shirt I hope you know,” Gandriel quipped from the table, his feet up and sipping at what appeared to be a glass of juice, “You should take it as a favor I let you borrow it.”  
  
Celeste quirked a fine eyebrow at him.  
  
“Ah well, my apologies.  Here, let me return it.”  She grabbed the hem of the shirt to pull it over her head and smirked as he yelped in protest as he threw his hand over his eyes, worse than a bashful child.  “Oh, is that a no?” She snorted and released her hold on the soft fabric, “Then kiss my ass.”  
  
Turning her attention back to the pan she watched the batter bubble, correctly this time, listening to Gandriel mutter in his other language beneath his breath.

He had it coming, that and a lot more.

What had her life come to? A week ago she’d been home in Vanica, three days ago aboard a slave trader ship, yesterday in a tomb of newly risen undead and today making pancakes in some idiot male’s home, wearing his sleep shirt.

She released an exasperated sigh; hopefully today she’d be headed to get Anelisse.

 She slipped the spatula under the dough and tried to flip it but realized it was stuck to the bottom of the pan. She tugged at it gently, willing it to come free.

Nothing.

She applied more force.

The pancake sprang loose with a slurp and flew straight out of the pan to stick with a thwap on the wall behind the stove. The spatula went lax in Celeste’s hand as she looked at it forlornly as it slid slowly off the wall.

“Oh ho,” Gandriel snorted from the table across the room, “and _I_ can’t cook. At least I didn’t get the damned thing stuck to the wall.”  
  
Celeste didn’t even feel sorry as she swiped up the hot skillet and sent it flying at his face.  
_______

Gandriel was sporting a lovely goose egg on the side of his head as he plucked a couple pancakes from the platter Celeste had just sat down on the table next to pile of bacon and eggs she had also fried.  He poured a truly disgusting amount of honey over the entire plate before slicing off a piece and popping it in his mouth.  
  
Celeste tried and failed to hide her grimace.

“Not bad,” Gandriel acknowledged around his mouthful of food, his elbow propped on the circular wooden table beneath them, “though I’d have left them a bit longer, they’re a bit . . .” He quirked his head, “Chewy.”  
  
“I’m certain you would have,” Celeste replied, shaking her head as she scooped several small round cakes onto her own plate and poured a more reasonable amount of honey over them, something she hadn’t had in nearly a decade and something she had nearly forgotten the taste of.

Cutting into the cake, she took a bite and savored the sweet taste of the honey and the savory butter-  
  
She spit the pancake out with a disgusted cough as she gagged.  “What in the Mother’s name did you do to that batter??”  
  
Gandriel chewed thoughtfully for a moment, his eyes narrowed in concentration before they widened in understanding, “Oh that wasn’t sugar was it? That was salt.”  
  
Celeste closed her eyes and rubbed her temples.

Idiot, complete fucking idiot-

“Oh well,” he shrugged, chewing loudly as Celeste’s shoulders tightened in annoyance, “they’re still edible.  Here,” Gandriel dumped his pile of bacon onto Celeste’s plate and swiped up her uneaten pancake, “let’s trade.”  
  
At least he was a somewhat considerate idiot.

“We’re leaving to get my sister today,” Celeste informed him as she ate her bacon and eggs, trying not to flinch as he shoveled the disgusting pancakes into his mouth. “We should go soon.”  
  
“You’ll need new clothes.” Gandriel swallowed, running a hand through his hair and pulling it away with a grimace when he found the batter that had been plastered there prior. “I already went down to the market and got some things for you.  They’re in my room,” he pointed his fork at Celeste, “since your scrawny ass won’t fill out anything I have.”  
  
Celeste swallowed her food and tilted her head, watching the male carefully.

“I don’t have any money with me now.” She cleared her throat, suddenly aware of the lack of anything she had, her utter poverty, “. . . I will have to pay you back when I get the chance.”

Maybe that satchel of copper was still in the cottage.

“It’s not necessary,” Gandriel replied, waving her off, “I owe it to you for your help with my little . . . ‘predicament,’ ’That self-righteous smirk reappeared, his golden eyes twinkling obnoxiously, “Besides, I’ve got plenty to go around so I’m sure I could spare a few coppers to help out the less fortunate.”  
  
The fork in Celeste’s hands bent in half.

Gandriel flinched.

“Kidding!” he added with a forced laugh, holding his hands out in front of him, ”Just kidding.”  
  
Guilt rushed through Celeste and she shoved the plate of food away from her, no longer hungry.  Wordlessly, she set her fork down and strode out of the kitchen, intent on finding the clothes in Gandriel’s room.

More charity she was forced to take.

No, she’d pay him back, even if the prick didn’t really deserve it.  

She just needed to get to Anelisse, she could figure out the rest later.

“Hey!” he called after her, “It was just a joke! Don’t get your underthings in a knot, I mean . . . not that you’re . . . wearing . . . any . . .” An awkward cough and a pause.  “. . . Are you going to finish your breakfast?”

_________

Underthings seemed to the be the theme of the hour, Celeste realized as she picked up the skimpy pink things Gandriel had purchased her, nothing more than bits of twine and lace. The brassiere was no better, its surface sheer and covered in flowers.

She suppressed an eyeroll before slipping into them, they’d have to do.

At least the leggings and lace up shirt he’d purchased her were practical and well made, she grudgingly acknowledged as she slipped her feet into new warm wool socks.

Her host had been kind enough to wash her boots, the ichor and blood now gone from them. She pulled them on before swiftly braiding her hair back.

A sliver of bronze caught her attention on Gandriel’s nightstand. The necklace that she had yanked off the wight was sitting there, its tarnished surface shimmering in the light slipping through the curtained window.

He must have picked it up from where it had fallen out of her dress that night before in the bathing room.  
  
Curiosity won as Celeste walked over and reached out a tentative hand to the amulet, its surface smooth and worn.

She picked it up and turned it over in her hand, its make was rough and primitive, as though some unskilled hand had pounded it into the rough oval shape that it took. Inscribed on its surface were an array of faded angular symbols, letters Celeste assumed, that she couldn’t decipher. On the top of the amulet was a vertical line with three shorter lines slashed perpendicular through it, parallel to one another.

It was slightly warm to the touch, and the power that thrummed from it was soft but ancient-  
  
“Celeste!” Gandriel called from the other room, his voice muffled by the wall. 

She jumped and nearly dropped the amulet. Without thought, she shoved the worn piece of bronze into her pants pocket.  Gandriel wouldn’t be needing it.

“I’m coming!”

\---------  
“Are you ready to go?” Celeste asked, stepping out of Gandriel’s room where she had changed and shutting the door quietly behind her, the weight of the amulet a phantom in her hand.

“About that,” he said with a shake of his head, scratching the back of his neck, “We can’t go just yet.”  
  
“What do you mean,” Celeste growled, watching Gandriel cautiously as he palmed a knife loose from his belt, turning the piece of metal over in his hand.  “You swore to me.”

Celeste took a step back, planting her feet in a defensive stance and gauging the distance to the door, calculating.

If he chose to attack-  
  
“I know I did,” he sighed once, long and full of uncertainty, not meeting her eyes, “and I know where they took your sister, but I can’t help you until you finish helping me.”  
  
He stepped forward, sliding his finger down the blunt side of the knife, the scent of fear coating him, fear and uncertainty.

  
“Where they took her?” Her eyes narrowed as the male looked at the knife in his hands hesitantly, “Gandriel, where did they take her?  She should be in Vanica-”  
  
“I can’t tell you, not yet,” He pulled the knife up and swallowed hard, finally meeting her eyes, and Celeste braced herself for the attack she was certain would follow.  “You’ll have to bring me back first.” He sighed heavily, as though bearing a great burden, and closed his eyes.  “Mother above, I hope this works.”

And with no warning Gandriel brandished than knife and, to the utter horror and surprise of Celeste, slashed the blade across his own throat, deep and swift, drawing blood in a pooling torrent.

His eyes widened as he made a choking noise and collapsed to the carpet, the knife bouncing away from him.

Celeste stood there dumbstruck for a moment, in disbelief that he hadn’t intended to use the knife on her but instead had slit his own throat.

His words settled in on her, _You’ll have to bring me back first._  
  
He knew she could raise the dead.

He wanted her to revive him.

He was an entirely new level of insane. 

Celeste stood there for an abnormally long amount of time watching Gandriel’s blood seep into the already stained carpet, the life rapidly fleeing from his eyes and scent of his fading immortality assaulting her nose.

She could find Anelisse on her own, could let the bastard get what was coming to him and avoid playing into whatever games he intended to play.

That familiar tug pulled at her in warning, that thread weaving its way between her and the dying male on the floor.

He definitely had it coming, dragging her into a wight-infested tomb like that, nearly getting her killed. They couldn’t have gotten that far with Anelisse-

The tug hit her again, harder this time, demanding.

“Fine,” she growled, tossing down the small bag of supplies Gandriel had left for her and striding over to the prone male, “I hope this works.”

She’d known he’d had ulterior motives but this? This was truly the pinnacle of stupidity.  
  
He was a fool for banking on her saving him.

She’d never mastered the power, had never learned to control it or manifest it. It came and went as it pleased.

Celeste knelt and grunted as she rolled Gandriel over onto his back.  Placing a hand on his chest, she felt the corded muscle beneath and the utter stillness from where his heart had spluttered to a stop.

She closed her eyes, willing the power to come.

Nothing.

She growled, digging her hand into the male’s now blood-soaked shirt and willed it, willed the warmth to fill her and flow from her.

Still nothing.

Something like panic flitted through her and she cracked open her eyes and flattened her palm harder over Gandriel’s chest, blood now soaking her boots once again.

“Please,” she muttered, feeling an overwhelming sense of dread creep over her as the minutes began to tick by and nothing happened.

If he died because she couldn’t save him-

She drew her hand back and slapped him, hard.

“Wake up you prick!” She snarled, shoving both of her hands onto his bloody chest, her heart racing as fear begin to take root in her. She shook him, violently. His head lolled back and forth as the blood finally faded to a barely discernable trickle.

She dropped his body back to the floor and sat back, her breathing becoming somewhat ragged.

“If you don’t help me,” she said to no one in particular as she closed her eyes, something like remorse flaring to the surface.  If he survived this she’d kill him herself.  “I can’t save him.”  
  
The warmth suddenly pooled in the base of her stomach, rising and racing through her body, the familiar feminine presence smiling as the energy dripped through her fingertips into Gandriel’s still cooling body.

It was a few moments before a gasp tore out of him and his blond lashes fluttered, his pupils constricting and flaring wide as his body reoriented itself to life.

Celeste let out a breath she didn’t realized she’d been holding as she released her grip on Gandriel and curled in on herself, resting her elbows against her knees and her face in her hands.

Close, that had been too close.

“Celeste,” he breathed roughly as his voice and consciousness returned, looking at her as though he were staring up at some holy being, “you actually saved me.”  He shoved his fingers into his hair.  “I didn’t think you’d actually do it.” He laid there for a moment staring up at the ceiling.

“You can actually bring back the dead,” he repeated, sounding a bit more focused.  He looked up at Celeste again, who now knelt next to him, her arms crossed over her chest, her face no longer buried in her palms.  Gandriel placed a palm over his own chest, as though checking for the pulse beneath, “I didn’t think it was possible-”

She loosed a snarl at him.  
  
He stopped and locked eyes with her for a moment before shooting upright past her, knocking her over onto her backside as he stood and immediately began unbuttoning his pants.

“GANDRIEL!” Celeste cried out as she watched the male fling open the bedroom door and immediately drop his trousers and underthings to the floor, oblivious to the show he was giving her.  Had he lost what bit of his sanity he’d possessed upon being revived? “Have you lost your fucking mind?!”  
  
Gandriel twisted in front of the full-length mirror she had briefly noticed on his bedroom wall, looking over his shoulder.  He let out a howl of delight before turning and directing his uncovered rear triumphantly at Celeste.

“Do you see?!” He cried in delight, nearly shaking with excitement, “Do you see it?”  
  
“See your bare naked ass?” She scowled as she turned her face and covered it with her hand, the utter whiteness of it appalling and nearly offensive, “Yes, unfortunately I do.”  
  
“It’s bare!” he cackled, throwing his hands up in the air and laughing towards the high ceiling as he practically skipped back into the living room.  “That bitch’s mark is gone and my bargain is broken!”  


“Her mark?” Celeste inquired, her nerves still frazzled from impromptu and unexpected suicide she’d just had to save him from, “Whose mark? You’d better start explaining things now, and truthfully.”  
  
Gandriel was near quaking with happiness.  
  
“I made a bargain with a....woman” he said breathlessly, trotting back and forth through his own blood, his carpet even more ruined than it had been the night before, “I traded my body to her in exchange for favors.”  
  
“Your body?” Celeste asked incredulously, watching the male pace back and forth, his pants still about his ankles, “You sold yourself as a sex slave? Are you serious?”  
  
“Yes!” Gandriel exclaimed throwing his hands up in the air, “It was a blood pact, one that could only be broken by death.” He stopped and looked at her, grinning at her more widely and honestly than she had seen since their meeting.  “And you just fixed that. That’s what I needed from you, don’t you see?”

He laughed again and made to move towards her as though to hug her.

“Pull up your fucking pants!” Celeste hissed, trying to ignore the surprisingly . . . impressive part of him.  “I don’t need to see your junk.”  
  
Gandriel looked down, having apparently forgotten his pants were at his feet.

“Shit!” He immediately bent down and pulled the article up, covering his manhood. “I’m sorry, I just had to know, had to see if her mark was gone.”  
  
“She marked you on the ass?” Celeste blinked, trying not to dwell on Gandriel’s surprisingly white rear that didn’t match his otherwise golden skin.

“It was her way of deterring other females from touching me,” he explained, pulling his blood-soaked pants up around his hipbones and buttoning them shut.  “I’ve been enslaved to her for months and have been trying to get out. I stumbled upon an old scrying glass amongst her things, she’s ancient and bit of a hoarder, and it showed me a flash of you.  So I stole the map and followed it to you.”

He loosed a sigh.  “But the fact that it worked . . .” he rubbed his hands across his face, “You raising the wights in the tomb should have assured me of that but seeing it, feeling it-“ He looked at Celeste, tawny eyes full of honest gratitude, “Thank you.”  
  
“I didn’t raise those wrights,” Celeste muttered, her eyes locked with the carpet as she finally rose to her feet, “You were an idiot for thinking that was my handiwork. Was that the entire point of the tomb?” she hissed, glaring at him.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, shrugging his shoulders, a faint white line now prominent across his golden throat, “but the map showed it so I trusted it and followed.”  Gandriel flopped onto the couch.  “What do you mean you didn’t raise those wights?” he added as an afterthought, his brows furrowing as he took in her words.  
  
“That wasn’t me.” She walked over and picked up the bag of supplies, adjusting the weight across her back.  She didn’t need this idiot’s help.  “Whatever that was, it wasn’t me.” His face blanched as the reality of the risk he took hit him.

A fool’s risk that had barely paid off.

She was done with the games.

“Where’s my sister, Gandriel?” Celeste questioned, watching the radiant male. His face sank a little as he looked at her.

“Likely still in Vanica,” he stared at his blood-soaked carpet, his lip puckering in revulsion.  “Unless that foul human male decided to take her already - he spoke of leaving with her after the wedding and heading to a large human city on the continent when he spoke to the crew on the docks.  Rainfelle if I’m not mistaken.” His face went even more white as he took in the deathly silence radiating off Celeste.

“I need to go now,” she turned towards the door, marking her path out of the apartment.

“I need to change,” he muttered, realizing he was dripping his own blood.  “Just a minute, give me just a minute.” Gandriel sprinted past her and into his room, slamming the door behind him.

Celeste wasted no time as she moved towards the door, intent on leaving.  
  
Gandriel had already provided with all the things she needed.

The anger she felt was now icy, a sharp desire to end the human man who had taken her sister against her will.

And she also wasn’t sure she wouldn’t slit Gandriel’s throat herself the next chance she got for all of the nonsense he’d put her through.

So she’d return to Vanica on her own and find her.

And if Anelisse wasn’t there . . . well, she had other means of tracking her down.

Having a city name was a start.

At least she had supplies now and a weapon, she noted with some grim satisfaction as she swiped up Gandriel’s discarded knife and sprinted out the door into the streets of Marchedor, the hot sun beating down overhead.

She gently patted her back pocket, checking for the folded scrap of paper she’d found stuffed in her host’s drawer while she’d snooped earlier.  The map he’d mentioned was now tucked safely on her person, and she began trotting down the long road, vanishing easily into the crowded streets.

Gandriel would be fine on his own and Celeste would be lucky if she never saw the useless male ever again.


	19. On The Open Seas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter! Since there was such a delay in getting this finished I've posted a link to a character portrait of Gandriel that my best friend completed. 
> 
> https://www.deviantart.com/storyteller4271/art/Gandriel-756822786
> 
> She's also started a character portrait series for all of the characters so expect to see those in future chapters!

She had spoken too soon.

“Do you think pigeons have feelings?”  Gandriel inquired as he and Celeste made their way down a wooded path, the rich sunlight dripping through the canopy in splattered rays of liquid gold and warming the air around them. 

“I don’t know, Gandriel,” she ground out, glaring at the road ahead, her hands clenching and unclenching around the strap of her pack, “Why don’t you go ask one, somewhere else, and see?"  
  
He’d been at this nonsensical jabbering for four hours, filling the silence with any scrap of senseless noise he could conjure. Celeste was near snapping.

Within an hour of her leaving, he'd come barreling after her into the streets of Marchedor, squawking about her impromptu departure and that he was “only changing.” Celeste had made it evident she was no longer interested in his services and that he was dismissed. He’d pursued, relentlessly.

“Once an Aella swears their loyalty, they never break their promises,” Gandriel had proudly stated, swearing his sudden allegiance to her cause. Celeste had countered that he couldn’t be that loyal considering the lengths he’d gone to get out of his last promise.

 Bargain, he’d corrected her over and over, bargains weren’t the same.  He'd then gone into copious detail about the strange female he’d made said bargain with, about his reasonings and why she was a ‘terrifying old crone’ that he was glad to be rid of.

She stalked off mid-sentence hoping he’d return to his apartment and forget her presence. She’d had no such luck. Instead, he’d followed her and peppered her with questions that ranged from “what’s your favorite color?” to “do you think life really has any meaning?" all the way to “what’s it like having tits?”

Which is what let her to current predicament of incessant rambling that would not halt.

“I mean it’s not an unreasonable thing to consider,” Celeste groaned as she heard Gandriel duck beneath a low hanging branch, the limb twanging as he released it.  “They’re very intelligent creatures and are just as much a part of nature as we are.”

It was hard to believe she had ever taken this idiot even remotely seriously. She counted it a miracle he hadn’t summoned some wild beast to them with the amount of noise he was producing, as every phrase muttered from his lips sent throbbing through Celeste’s skull.

“Could you imagine if one could communicate with us?” She screwed up her eyes against the noise of his boots scuffling across the ground in a lithe trot.  He was truly far too happy and jovial to be of any use considering the severity of the undertaking Celeste was on.

She glanced sidelong at the large bulky branches scattered here and there amongst the fresh young grass peeking up along the sides of the road. Maybe she could hit him with one of them and leave him to be looted by bandits.  
  
“Now, the real question is do they get as much pleasure from se-"

“Gandriel!” Celeste growled, shooting a glare over her shoulder, immediately silencing the radiantly happy male, “If you do not shut up this instant I will kill you myself and not bring you back this time.”

He pouted a little and fell into silence.

Celeste almost sighed in relief, the pain in her head finally beginning to fade. If he could just keep quiet until they could get to Portmouth and boarded a ship he might stand a chance of not facing death by strangulation.

The quiet persisted for a time, the trill of songbirds flitting through the air. A sweet-scented breeze danced through Celeste’s braid as she made her way up the steep incline in front of her, her long legs easily covering the distance.

This wooded path almost reminded her of the dirt one that lead to the small cabin she’d called home for years in Vanica, the one she and Anelisse had raced down as children to play on the beach.

 She could almost hear the fluttering of her dress's fabric and her sister's high giggling screech as they chased one another through the woods, finding happiness and meaning in the cesspit that was inevitably their lives.

She leashed the thought of Anidre’s warm hands braiding back her long hair into a flat plait, clicking her tongue over how long and healthy it was.  Of the thought of her first years in Vanica when she and Anelisse would curl beside Anidre at night in that small bed, huddled close for warmth and comfort.

A knot formed in her throat that she tried to swallow around, attempting to force her mind away from the memory of easy mindlessness that had helped her damper her other more grueling flashes of her earliest years.

Peace, she concluded, peace for herself and Anelisse was all she really desired, the rest was irrelevant.

She summitted the hill and began the trek down its winding path before the sound trickled into her ears.

It took a moment before she noticed the slight tapping noise, almost undiscernible.

Her eyebrow twitched and she glanced backward.

Gandriel was nervously tapping on the scabbard at his waist.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

She gritted her teeth.

The tapping increased, almost rhythmically-

“Uh, Celeste,” he piped up sheepishly, footsteps halting behind her, “might I say something?”  
  
“What. Do. You. Want.” She whirled on him, snarling, her temper snapping as she shoved her vulnerable thoughts down and away. “Gandriel.”  
  
His tan cheeks flushed as he rubbed the back of his head, his tawny eyes glancing off to the side.

“We’re headed to Portmouth right?” He pursed his lips, golden skin bright in the dollops of fat sunlight sprinkling his high cheekbones and flashing off the gold rings in his ears, “If so we’re going the wrong way.”

\---------------------------------------

For all the things Gandriel seemed to be awful at he’d done an excellent job getting them access onto a trade shipment of tea headed for Prythian.  His pouty lips and flashing sensuous smile had done wonders to coax the busty demi-fae captain, Fallon she called herself, and her straight-backed first mate into letting them catch a ride.

"My power will provide you quiet seas and fast winds to Prythian if you grant us passage to Vanica," Gandriel had cooed to the woman, his tawny eyes gleaming as the Captain ogled him and glanced him over, sizing up land to be conquered.  He’d vaguely gestured over a shoulder towards Celeste, "My sister here has some experience on the seas, and is a mighty fine sailor if I do say so myself.”  
  
Celeste had sent him a look of disbelief—his sister? She’d nearly snorted from the obviousness of the lie but instead had only angled her head in confirmation as the Captain glanced at her, green-hazel eyes assessing.

"Deal." The Captain had stood from her position at the table in Portmouth’s infamous tavern, the Red Maiden, where they’d found her and her crew talking loudly about their shipment of cargo due to leave port that afternoon.  She rolled up her map and nodded at the rest of her crew before sauntering toward the male, candlelight shimmering on the ridiculous feather in her oversized purple hat. "Though I might require other . . . assistance from you if the need arises," the lovely woman had purred in return, brushing her hand across Gandriel’s chest as she walked past him, winking.

He’d waggled his eyebrows at Celeste in victory as the beautiful Captain escorted them both out of the Red Maiden and down to the docks.   She'd led them aboard her large vessel, the appropriately named _Siren_ , her wide hips swaying a bit more than necessary as Gandriel and Celeste followed.

Celeste had managed to contain the eyeroll at his sheer idiocy but felt her lips turn up slightly at the corners at her companion’s performance, his charisma one of the few features she’d found about the male to be useful.

They’d been shown to a small cabin beneath the ship, barely wide enough to fit both of them, its low ceiling requiring them to duck to access their small, worn hammocks as the sweet salt of the sea permeated the air around them.

It had been mere minutes since entering their room when Fallon’s stone-faced first mate had come to inform Gandriel of the Captain's request for him to join her for dinner and "evening entertainment."

He’d grinned like a wolf.

Celeste had been left there to ponder while Gandriel had disappeared to ‘freshen up,’ informing her 'not to wait up for him.’  She'd pointedly gagged as he’d swaggered out of the small room, a male aware of his allure with the opposite sex.

She'd only managed a few minutes of silence before she’d vacated her hammock and made her way to the main deck, itching to do something with herself, to avoid letting herself fall into a pit of reflection she wasn’t sure she’d be able to escape.

Ascending the stairs, she was met with a cool, fresh onslaught of sea air as she took in the blue waves splashing calmly around them, the heat of the slowly sinking sun blotted out by thin clouds, no doubt summoned by Gandriel’s own hand.

She took up position near the main mast, watching the sailors flit to and fro maining the sails and cleaning the decks as the ship pulled smoothly away from Portmouth.  The crew appeared to be a menagerie of fae, demi-fae and human alike.

Something that came as a surprise to Celeste as she watched the young men and women manage the ship, calling out orders as the sails flared to life with the strong westerly winds, another gift from Gandriel.

Celeste also tried and failed to ignore the young blonde demi-fae male pulling the sails wide, his knotwork limp at best. They’d be delayed several days if they intended to use such weak knots on their trek across the ocean.

“You looking for something to do?” a deep voice called to her left, catching her attention, “your brother said you could sail, we can always use more hands here to help.”  
  
Celeste turned her attention to the Captain’s tall, dark-haired first mate, his brown eyes fixed on her face, analyzing.  He was human, she noticed with a small cock of her head, his face more lined, skin more weathered than his fae and demi-fae crewmates.

She cleared her throat and turned her attention back to the boy attempting to wrangle his knots.

 “He's not wrapping the rope right,” she quipped, pushing herself off the mast and flipping her braid over a shoulder, nodding towards the young demi-fae pulling the other sail wide and flapping its binding rather fruitlessly, “If they stay loose like that it'll prevent the sails from catching the air properly.  It'll slow you down.” She glanced up at the man, “I can show him how to do it properly if you’d like.”

The male watched her for a moment, assessing.

“My names Vaerek,” he extended a scarred hand towards her, she took it gingerly and shook, “We’d be happy to see what pointers you have to offer.”  
  
“Celeste,” she replied, loosening her hand from the tall man’s firm grip.   She surveyed the milling crew.   “Shall we?”

 Vaerek grunted his approval and motioned for her to lead the way.

\---------------------------------------------

 It had been a few hours of peaceful calm coaching sailors on the deck on the proper ways to tie and fan the sails, the cool breeze smoothing her frayed nerves, before Celeste had retired to her small cabin for the evening, the sun now dipping in earnest below the horizon's edge.

She found out while working with the crew that the vast majority of them were just learning to sail, ‘newly hired’ Vaerek had told her, watching her with those calculating eyes as she'd taken her time on providing pointers on how to properly handle the vessel.

He shook her hand in thanks at the end of it all, telling her that he’d see to it personally she received food that evening and that’d he’d be happy to have her help the following day.

She’d nodded her acceptance before trekking off back to her room, her heart somehow lighter after the day of work and distraction.

This she could do, she noted, pulling her sweat-drenched shirt from her back, scowling down at the questionable underthings Gandriel had purchased for her.  Work and focus helped keep her grounded, helped keep her from plummeting over the edge of panic.

She’d just sat in her hammock when the door to the cabin creaked open and a wild-eyed Gandriel crept into the room, naked except for his underthings and socks, reeking of booze. 

“Enjoy yourself?” Celeste questioned, one brow arched as she watched the barely lucid male flop into his hammock, a moan of reprieve escaping his lips.

“That woman is a tyrant,” he groaned, his voiced muffled as he lay face down in his hammock, “I didn’t win a single hand of poker against her and she took everything from me except my skivvies.”  
  
Celeste shook her head, chuckling under her breath.  
  
“She didn’t even lose a single article of clothing,” Gandriel continued, a pout on his lips as he rolled over and stretched his limbs in front of him, “just kept peppering me with questions and refilling my wine glass.  Mother above, I had a lot.”  
  
“No kidding,” Celeste replied, wrinkling her nose at the smell of wine wafting off the male.

“What’d you do all afternoon?” He questioned, as if realizing she was actually there for the first time and glancing sidelong at her, “That brassiere’s nice—need something less frilly though, black would be better suited.”  
  
Celeste only rolled her eyes, _nevermind you were the one who bought them for me_.  “I’ll keep that in mind. I worked with the sailors this afternoon—most of the crew is new to sailing so I gave them some pointers.”  
  
“I’d take pointers from you if you were out there sailing in that piece of lace,” he slurred slightly before flopping over onto his back, “though I’d imagine it wouldn’t serve much use against the elements.”  
  
“That’s what my arrogance is for,” Celeste responded drily, yanking one of her boots free, “It protects me from all things, rain or wind.”  
  
Gandriel turned his attention to the woman, his brows furrowed in confusion, “Did you just make a joke?"  
  
“Why would you think such a preposterous thing?” Celeste replied, her attention focused on her boots, “I’m the least funny person you know.”  
  
“By the Mother,” he gaped, raising himself on his elbows, “you are capable of humor!"  
  
Celeste opened her mouth to reply when a knock sounded at the door.

She rose quickly and opened the wooden door on silent hinges before coming face to face with Vaerek, a tray of food in his hands.

He quirked a silent brow at her attire and she nearly hissed in annoyance as she remembered what she was, or rather wasn't, clothed in.

“Looks nice, doesn’t it?” Gandriel called sloppily from his hammock, ropes creaking as he attempted to look at their guest, “I told her as much.”  
  
Vaerek ignored him.

“I brought you and your . . . brother,” a wry look at Gandriel over Celeste’s shoulder, “food and drink, though I don’t think he needs more.”  
  
The male grumbled in disagreement, though he surely knew the truth to those words.

The first mate handed the tray over to Celeste. “The Captain also sent down his clothes from their earlier . . . endeavors,” he motioned to the side where he’d set down Gandriel’s pile of clothes and boots. “She sends her thanks for the entertainment.”  
  
Celeste shoved her tongue in her cheek as she heard her companion mutter ‘tyrant’ under his breath. Vaerek’s eyes twinkled in amusement.

“Thank you,” she tucked the food covered tray against her hip, “you and your Captain have been very generous with us and we greatly appreciate it."  Vaerek nodded in confirmation.

“Send word if you need anything else,” he replied before turning on his heel and making his way down the hallway, no doubt heading back to eat dinner with the crew.

Celeste shut the door, the small candle on the cramped nightstand in the corner flickering in the darkness.

“'Looks nice?'” Celeste questioned, watching the sloshed male nearly capsize his hammock as he attempted to wiggle into a sitting position, reaching out for the food, “I’m under the ruse of being your sister, remember?"  
  
Color stained Gandriel’s cheeks. “. . . Right.”  
  
"Harmless" was the word that danced through Celeste’s mind as she handed over one of the loaves of crusty bread and bowl of lamb stew to him, entirely harmless.

She watched Gandriel drop his spoon into his soup, frowning forlornly at the thick liquid.

Harmless, but clueless.

Celeste sat and began devouring her own dinner, musing.  Anelisse would love him.

She watched as he picked at his food, having fished his spoon out of the bowl, and realized just how young he looked, how . . . light.

Something heavy settled in her stomach as she stared into her own bowl.

————————

“So, your parents,” Celeste inquired later that night, settling into her small hammock and slipping free from her pants, entirely unfazed by the drowsy male beside her seeing, “what’s their story?”

The conversation during dinner had been surprisingly easy: they’d talked about everything from the weather to their food preferences. Celeste had gotten the impression that for all of his bravado Gandriel hadn’t been many places, and he had an innocence to him that she hadn’t originally detected.

He was also young, especially by fae standards, only twenty years her senior.

“My parents are from Monteserre,” the male replied easily, his arms resting above his head as he kicked his leg to and fro, rocking his hammock.  Sobriety had returned quickly after dinner and he'd swiftly regained his clothing.

So that’s where the accent was from.

“My mother is a Lady from the Aella family,” he continued looking up at the ceiling, “names are passed through the mother's line there.  She’s wilder than any fire and wickedly sharp, she’s also got a mean left hook,” he rubbed his face as though in memory, then paused.  “. . . And my father is a florist.”  
  
Celeste couldn't quite suppress her snort.  Somehow, she wasn’t the least bit surprised.

No wonder the fool was so flowery.

“He comes from a decent line himself but spends his time tending to his gardens,” Celeste cocked her head at the bit of bitterness there, barely perceptible.  “He's so preoccupied with his flowers that my mother ended up splitting ways with him for it. She now lives in a village on the outskirts of Monteserre, weaving and sewing as her pastime.”

“Who do you favor?” Celeste inquired, the rocking of the ship nearly lulling her to sleep.

“My mother,” Gandriel replied quietly, the tightness in his tone again nearly palpable, “the features and the power both, they come from the Aella line. The only thing I got from my father was his hair, everything else is Aella.”  
  
Somehow Celeste highly doubted that, especially as she thought back upon the array of soaps lining his bathroom wall in Marchedor.

“What about you?” Gandriel inquired, “What’s your story? Why is a fae woman being raised by humans in Vanica of all places?”  
  
Celeste’s blood ran cold but she kept her voice steady as she answered.

“I was disowned a long time ago,” Celeste replied, turning her back to Gandriel and nestling down into the loose hammock, “where I’m from only the strongest survive and good luck to you if you’re born a woman.”

“What kind of back-assed place do you come from?” Gandriel inquired, lifting his head slightly to look at her, something like concern on his face.  “The women in Monteserre practically run the place, the men just try to ride out the storm of their fury most of the time.”

“Somewhere I have no wish to return to.” She felt an icy grip around her heart as she thought of the flash of membranous wings that haunted her dreams.

“And your power?” Gandriel asked, she could feel his eyes on her back, watching, “Where’d that come from?”

“I have no idea,” she nearly whispered, wondering if the wine had gone to her head with the information she was allowing him to hear, information she’d withheld even from Anelisse.

He must have scented something on her though, as he cleared his throat, “So what about your human family?”

She thought back to the two long tapered marks on her back. “I was dumped off in Vanica afterward and was taken in by Anidre,” she nearly choked on the name, “and my sister, Anelisse.”  
  
“Ah, the beautiful blonde one,” Gandriel replied, sucking on a tooth.

“You saw her?” Celeste inquired, shooting her attention to the hammock next to her.

“No, but by the way she was described,” he shook his head, “she must be some beauty to have caught the attention of that hellish human male.”  
  
“Hellish doesn’t even begin to describe it,” she muttered, staring into the darkness, having blown out the candle before settling into her hammock, “the only real monster on that island was him.”

“How was that?” the blond inquired, “Being the only fae on an island full of humans.”  
  
“Fine if you enjoy being spat at every day,” she replied, with no small touch of bitterness.  “I haven’t found humans to be the most accepting creatures.”  
  
“Really?” Gandriel sounded truly perplexed. “All of the humans I’ve met in Marchedor have been fine, maybe standoffish, but never so . . . hateful.”  
  
Celeste snorted.  “The whole world isn’t Marchedor.” She thought back on the golden streets and cheerful laughter flitting through that beautiful city so similar to a place she once knew.  “Especially not isolated islands were the bloodlines are shallow.”

Gandriel was silent for a moment, considering.

“Maybe once we find your sister,” she heard the creak of ropes and jumped as she felt the unexpected brush of a hand against her shoulder.  She struggled not to cringe away from the touch, “you and Anelisse can come back to Marchedor, start over there. Stay at my place until you get one of your own.” There was such kindness in that tone, such innocence. “Mother knows I owe it to you after what I put you through.”  
  
Celeste breathed deeply and shifted in her hammock. “I’ll think about it.”  
\------------  
  
“. . . What happened?” Celeste gasped as she stood on the crumbling docks of Vanica, smoke billowing in the air from old fires burning down. “Everything's . . . gone. Everyone's . . .” she choked on her words as she caught sight of the grey hands peeking beneath collapsed buildings, horror racing through her, “. . . dead.”

“Looks like the slave traders got here first, girl,” Fallon stood next to Celeste, her hazel eyes crinkling sadly as her auburn waves lifted in the breeze. “They tend not to take kindly to having their boats capsized and their cargo . . . liberated.”

Information Gandriel had no doubt provided the Captain during their game of strip poker several nights earlier.  
  
“I have to look,” Celeste insisted, panic creeping into her as she took off across the dock, “I have to.”  
  
“Thank you, Captain,” Gandriel bowed his head towards the tall demi-fae, “We’ll be quick.”  
  
“Do you need help?” the woman asked, glancing at Celeste’s shrinking figure, an odd gleam of understanding flashing in her eyes.

Something inside him felt as though it were cleaving as he shook his head at the Captain, the woman who’d shown them unexpected kindness.

“No,” he shook his head, “We can manage.”  
  
“We’ll be here when you finish, Gandriel." She nodded before striding back aboard her ship, her crew standing stone-faced as they watched the smoldering ruins of the tiny island.

The male took off at a steady pace from the docks and sprinted after Celeste, her black hair disappearing behind smoking ruins as she raced through the town.

Gandriel's heart sank as he caught a flash of the devastation on her face and quickened his pace, fearing what they would find in their search. 


	20. Vanica

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Here's the next chapter, thank you for all of the comments and kudos thus far! They're super appreciated!
> 
> The character portrait of Celeste is linked below  
> https://www.deviantart.com/storyteller4271/art/Celeste-758562169
> 
> Now onto the angstiest of angst ;)

Celeste’s feet slid on the loose pebbles as she bolted through the next set of hollow roads of Vanica, the scent of death assaulting her nose as she tried and failed to ignore the fury that bloomed her chest with each new corpse that met her eyes, rotting in the streets.

Countless, but not nearly enough to account for everyone on the island.  Likely the rest had fled.

Many of them had been right bastards to her, had deserved terrible fates, but this - this was horrendous. This was a fate that she would have wished on no one. A fate, she realized looking at the mutilated limbs and silent screams of horror on the faces of the dead, that few deserved. 

She’d ransacked through every ruin, every empty home, searching, looking.

Anelisse, she had to find Anelisse.

She tore around a corner and slid to a halt at the ruin before her.  What had once been the baker’s shop was now nothing more than a pile of smoldering rubble, bits of singed and rotted bread lying strewn amongst the broken glass and caked, dried blood.

Celeste felt her stomach roll as she took in the prone form of the baker—the hollow eyes of the elderly woman who had tended the shop staring lifelessly skyward, her floral dress ripped and torn in ways that told Celeste her death had been neither painless or easy. 

She stepped forward softly before kneeling next to the prone woman’s form, her fingers curled as though she had tried to claw her way away from whoever had killed her.

Celeste reached out a tentative hand and placed it over the woman’s chest before diving deep within herself, willing any dregs of her power to spill forth.

Nothing.

She pulled her hand away, feeling utterly useless.

It had been the same with numerous others she had tried to breathe life into again on the island, but it had been hopeless. She let out a long breath, rubbing her eyes with the palms of her hands. 

Some use this power was when it couldn’t even work when it was needed.  Another life wiped out due to corruptions of men.

So much like the countless other remains she had searched through, had tried to revive and save, frantically analyzing and hunting for Anelisse. 

There had been no trace of her.  And if she was here, and if she had died with the rest of the island’s occupants . . . if Celeste couldn’t bring her back . . .

She felt her breath come in a ragged gasp, panic and anger beginning to take her.

Control, she realized steadying herself internally, she had to take control, to keep herself in check if she wanted any chance of finding Anelisse, of finding any remaining soul on this wretched island. 

She sniffed the air for any whiff of her sister, of anyone she knew-

Nothing, she realized, stopping and glancing fruitlessly across the wreckage as nothing but smoke and decay swirled around her, they had spared nothing and no one.  And any remaining scents had long since been blotted out by death and fire.  

Loosening a growl Celeste whirled on her heel and made her way toward the largest house on the island, the sound of her frantic heart drowning out all the other sounds.

Perhaps there would be some clue, some hint as to what happened, where her sister was at the Penningtons’ estate.  

\---------

Gandriel had no words for the desolation before him, for the smell of the dead saturating the air, for the sight of children and women, their limbs twisted in unnatural ways, their faces peeled back in screams of terror.  For the silence that permeated the air around him.

The silence that only death could claim.

He had seen death, the death that took those in the throes of illness and the death of animals taken from the hunt but this . . . full on slaughter . . . Nausea rose up to meet him. He’d never seen the likes of this.

A heaviness unlike any he’d ever felt dusted over his heart as he caught sight of a small hand peeking out from beneath a collapsed wall, pale fingers reaching skyward. 

Gandriel stepped forward into the remains of the house and easily lifted the fallen wooden wall, its remaining paint stark against the soot covered surface. He threw the wall aside, revealing the owner of that tiny, frail hand: a small child.  

The girl’s blonde curls were muted and matted with grey dust and ash, her milky blue eyes wide in frantic fright in her final moments.  She’d been so very close to escaping the crumbling building before it’d collapsed down upon her.

The male could do nothing more than stare for a moment before frantically throwing the remaining debris covering her legs to the side.  He carefully lifted the child up and away from the smoldering ruin, her tiny body already beginning to bloat with rot, before resting her gently on the smooth cobblestone beneath him and kneeling beside her.

She was so incredibly small, so helpless and had had no means to protect or defend herself when hell had rained down up the small island.  And he, too, had never felt so helpless, so unable to do anything about this tragedy before him.  

But Celeste . . .

He looked behind him to where his companion was tearing through the rubble, her occasional scream for her sister reverberating around him.  A loud crash echoed toward him as she threw aside a heavy wooden beam before stopping and surveying the destruction before her, looking lost.     
   
“Cel-” Gandriel’s voice cracked, he cleared his throat of the tears before calling out once more, “Celeste?”

Celeste’s head snapped to him, violet eyes glancing him over before picking her way through the fallen house toward him, pausing as she noticed the tiny form before him.  

“Is there anything-?”  Celeste began sadly shaking her head before the last of the words could leave his mouth.

“I’ve already tried,” she swallowed hard, her hands twisting idly before her, “My power. . . it . . . it won’t respond.  I think it’s been too long.”  A pause.  “I’m sorry.”

Something wet and warm slid down his cheek as he felt that tiny spark of hope flaring in his chest extinguish.  Just as that tiny, defenseless mortal life before him had been doused out like water to a flame.  

Gandriel felt something crack within him.

Guilt tore through him as he considered his involvement in it, considered how he had been the one to free Celeste, had been the one to sabotage their ship.

This could have been prevented had he chosen not to be so selfish—

An internal wise voice inside stopped him, calming his thoughts. 

They would have done it regardless, he realized, smoothing back the blood-caked blonde hair from the small girl’s head, and he could have done nothing to stop it.  He shook his head.  A small island like Vanica where no one ventured was the ideal place to take slaves. 

He’d be surprised if they hadn’t taken anyone else with them, hadn’t herded those they saw fit onto their ship and slaughtered the rest.

These were the tales of nightmares, the tales of dark corrupted histories, not of the world he knew - that safe, sheltered world full of sunlight where the wildest storms and darkest thoughts could be calmed with a whisper and the humming of the woman who loved him most. 

A heavy sigh escaped his parted lips as he raised shaking fingers to ever so gently close the child’s vacant eyes and sent up a small prayer to the Mother to watch and guide.  

They would have done this and more anyway. He rose, a shiver dancing down his spine, to think what they would have done to Celeste had he left her.  He glanced towards his left where the fae woman had returned to her search through pile after pile of rubble.  

Both had come up empty-handed, no signs of her sister or the wretched male that had summoned this horror to this small island.  Nothing more than dust and ash and death.  

Gandriel rose, attempting to dust off his hands on his already filthy trousers when he noticed a tiny flutter of color in the dust beside where the child had lain. With quick, nimble fingers he swiped up the small object, dusting off its worn surface. 

It was ragdoll, made of poorly woven wool and bits of red twine, crude in making but well-loved.   He dusted off its small smiling face, a stone of sadness in his chest dropping as he trailed his fingers over the soft fabric.  The girl must have been carrying it when she’d died.  

The stone turned sharp and molten, forging itself into intent.

Celeste wouldn’t be the only one holding a bounty over Lukas’s head, Gandriel darkly mused as he ever so gently tucked the little doll into his pocket, the air around him suddenly buzzing with static. 

Dark clouds loomed on the horizon and distant thunder rolled as he slowly turned away from that small form on the stone.  No, there was more than a bounty on that man now. 

\-----

Celeste had come up empty-handed on Anelisse’s whereabouts as she searched Lukas’s home, nothing more than strewn receipts and idle pools of dried blood from the servants sprayed across his wooden floors, painting a grotesque scene.

She tried rifling through the papers for any notes or logs on where Lukas had gone as well but only found old ledgers and the meager pay stubs the Penningtons had provided their workers with, amongst those her own. 

She stopped, however, when she came across her name again in a leather-bound book shoved into the deep recesses of a bookshelf, written across a receipt. Celeste felt her eyes widen.   
   
It was the receipt from when the Penningtons had sold her out, her and, it seemed, many others. Celeste’s eyes danced down the list of names of people she knew on the island.  On the bottom of the ledger was Lukas’s signature.

“To be obtained in shipments of no more than three per load,” she murmured, reading from the contract, her gut recoiling in disgust.

Lukas had intended to sell the poorest of the island’s occupants, a trade agreement that had been woven into the ties his father had been making with the continent. 

To think Anidre had willingly sold Anelisse into this life, into this role with that monster.  She shook the thought from her head, refusing to acknowledge the small hovel that now sat abandoned on the opposite side of the island.

Any other papers she’d found had been soaked in blood, useless and illegible. 

_Some alliance_ , Celeste thought bitterly as she continued her search the trashed mansion, every bit of gold and silver now gone from the Penningtons’ lavish estate.  The slavers had gouged out strips of destruction in the well-tended walls and floors, peeling up the wood like strips of curled ribbon.  They had cracked that great wooden table into tiny bits of splintered wood, strewn about like sawdust. 

She’d found Lukas’s father still in his elegant night things, the lovely silk now dyed the deepest crimson, as though he’d scrambled from his bed before they’d slit his throat, then left him to him to bleed on his glossy pale comforters.  His wife appeared as though she’d never even risen before they’d sliced her throat as well, like a fish gutted.

There had been no Lukas though, no sign of his sorry hide and none of her sister. 

Maybe Martha and Adder had survived, had helped Anelisse in some way. They would have been the only ones who would have tried who would have cared enough.  

They were her last chance. 

Celeste barely registered Gandriel falling into step behind her as she left the manor, coming from Cauldron knew where he’d been helping her search, his scent doused in death and disgust as he glanced around him. 

“Those sorry bastards,” he hissed, easily keeping pace with her as she raced down the familiar path to the docks. “To think anyone could do this, something so . . .” she heard the throat-deep growl, “vile.” 

“The docks,” she rasped, weaving through the rubble, her mind focused on only one thing, “Martha and Adder’s house was there, if anyone survived it would have been-”   
   
Gandriel didn’t let her finish.  “Lead the way.”    
   
Celeste nodded before sprinting off, faster than she had before, racing against a clock she knew she couldn’t beat.

It was only minutes before Celeste came upon the old red brick cottage, small and quaint but lovely, just as she remembered it.  Her mind flashed with memories of when Martha and Adder would conveniently invite her and Anelisse over for dinner when they were small, when their ribs became a bit too obvious beneath their dirty clothes. 

The gardens lay in tatters, the rose bushes hacked to bits and the irises stomped, Adder’s small collection of figures from his travels in his youth shattered into frayed pieces of chipped metal and splintered wood. 

“To guard against the fae,” he’d told her once with a wink about the little iron figurines before ruffling her hair, “But only the bad ones.”

The windows had been burst out from the cottage itself - but it stood whole, as though the love that had filled that home had stood as some barrier to weather the storm that had crashed into Vanica.

Celeste didn’t bother with manners as she rushed the door and slammed it open, the wood bending and cracking beneath her immortal strength.

“Anelisse!” Celeste cried, glancing frantically around the old cottage, searching for any sign of her sister or of the old couple that had watched after them, “Martha!  Adder?”   
   
There was nothing, the house empty. Items were strewn carelessly about as though someone had rushed to leave, taking little care in shoving only the bare necessities into a satchel before fleeing. 

Adder and Martha had fled, rather quickly Celeste realized as she caught a whiff of their scents—both stale and old, older than the remnants of the others on the island.  And unlike the rest of the island, there was no scent of death and decay here, only dust.  

There was a chance they had made it out then.

Celeste damned courtesy as she began upturning things, looking for any sign or clue that the older couple may have left her, any hint of their departure. She was certain they had fled before the slavers had arrived, but why?  How could they have known?

She barely registered Gandriel pulling items from shelves behind her, searching also.

There had to be something, anything.

She kept turning up nothing, panic rising as hoarfrost chased a path around her heart. Surely Martha and Adder would have known she would get away, would return looking for Anelisse, would have known she’d come back for her, for them. 

Tossing a basket of earth-toned yarn to the side in frustration Celeste heard the chink of metal against tile as a brassy pendant slid across the floor, its tarnished surface reflecting poorly in the dim light of the cottage. 

It took her a moment to realize what had just fallen out.

Martha’s locket, a gift from her mother and her mother’s mother before that.

She would have never left that piece of jewelry, not in a million years, unless-

Celeste quickly swiped it up and pried open the delicate cover, a thin piece of parchment tumbling out into her waiting hands. Behind her Gandriel had stilled.

She wasted no time in unwrapping it.

_Celeste_ _,_

The handwriting was delicate but messy, written as though by shaking, fearful hands.

_He took her to the mainland._    
 _Slavers are headed here Lukas let slip,_    
 _His newest business venture without his father_ _’_ _s knowledge._    
   
Fury eddied in Celeste’s heart as the pieces clicked together on what contracts Lukas had been making in tandem to the ones his father had been drawing those months ago, not trading in fish but in human goods.

Lukas Pennington had sold Vanica out, like sheep sent to slaughter.

Those missing bodies, the ones she hadn’t found in the rubble, hadn’t escaped but instead had been taken as collateral for what Gandriel had done to their ship.   
   
 _We tried to get her, but to no avail_ _._

The smell of salt wafted off the paper.

_We’ve run, find her quickly._

Some hybrid of relief and horror crashed through Celeste, the slavers hadn’t gotten to Anelisse, hadn’t ripped her open unlike many of the other occupants of the island. 

But she was still with Lukas.  

She didn’t realize she’d crumpled the letter in her hand, had bitten her lip so hard that it bled until Gandriel placed a hand on her shoulder, those bright golden eyes shadowed, darker. 

Something had changed in that gaze. 

“We need to go.” Celeste shoved the paper into Gandriel’s waiting hands and pushed past him, pocketing the locket next to the odd bronze pendant she’d swiped up on the island and the carefully folded map-

The map.

Celeste quickly pulled the piece of parchment from her pocket and unfolded it, not caring what reaction Gandriel would give upon finding out she’d stolen his artifact.

He gave no indication of caring as he knelt down beside her, the note folded in his hands. 

Celeste cleared the broken glass and pottery from the floor with a sweep of her arm and laid the map out, smoothing its edges with her hands. The ancient parchment’s appearance was unremarkable, its surface lined with continents and countries but no markings—

“How does it work,” Celeste hissed at Gandriel, not bothering to look at him as she glared at the blank piece of parchment, “Tell me how to use it or I swear I’ll-”

“Like this.” Gandriel gently lifted Celeste’s hand, then slipped the knife from his belt and softly pricked her finger, welling up a bubble of scarlet blood before pressing it into the map. The blood disappeared into the parchment, a small red dot inching across its surface, searching.

It crossed the space between the small cluster of islands where Vanica resided at the southern end of the human realms over towards the main continent.

It was inching towards a tiny dot, due south of Marchedor. 

Rainfelle. 

\-----

Celeste wasted very little time after gathering up the map and placing it back in her pocket before she’d departed Vanica. She’d hiked up the trail to the old cottage to retrieve the few personal belongings that she and Anelisse had possessed and to put Anidre to rest. 

She’d contemplated it for a time, if the woman had deserved a proper burial but had decided that regardless of everything she at least deserved the peace she had so desperately wanted.

Upon opening the door she’d nearly vomited when she’d caught scent and sight of Anidre’s decomposing form, had nearly lost her composure as she looked over the woman she had called mother for years. 

Gandriel had offered to bury her, had taken the time to dig a wide, deep hole in the soft soil outside of the cottage for her final resting place, the first droplets of oncoming rain soaking into the dingy fabric over his broad shoulders.

Celeste did the best she was able and wrapped Anidre’s fragile remains in the small soil-colored comforter from her bed - the blanket Celeste had slept under as a child, fearful of the storms and what lurked in them.  She then gently removed the golden ring embedded with a sapphire from her right hand.

A memento for Anelisse, one passed from mother to daughter as Anidre had once told them.   She slipped the small silver wedding band her adoptive mother had carefully hidden in the top drawer in its place. 

Even in death she wouldn’t be without her husband’s memory.

It had been nearly heart-shattering to watch Gandriel lift up the fragile corpse and lower it ever so gently into the ground outside of her home. She’d refrained from saying any final words when prompted but had instead instructed the male to “finish it” before stalking back into the empty home and gathering up the few remaining bits of their old life.

Odds and ends of Anidre’s: hair combs, silver bracelets and rings, all things from her time as a Child of the Blessed.  Things she’d refused to part with even in the face of poverty. 

She’d then carefully packed the awful lip color and kohl Anelisse had tried to force on her during the Spring celebration, something that felt as though it had happened in another life in light of recent events. Finally, she’d packed the last of her and her sister’s scarce belongings before gently wrapping the two porcelain mugs in Anelisse’s dresses before rising.

She’d looked the cottage over once, and the small patch of fresh earth now beside it, eyes hard and heart frozen before nodding her head and stepping back onto the path, intent to never return.

\---------

The rain had begun to fall in earnest as they made a beeline for the docks, a dark plume now marking their destination.  It seemed the crew of the  _Siren_  had taken it upon themselves to offer the dead what little peace they could.  The pyre burned high, smoke stinging Celeste’s eyes as raindrops hissed on the coals.  

Celeste had approached a stone-faced Fallon and Vaerek standing beside the high flames, their faces shadowed as they watched the bodies fade to ash.

She quickly explained what she had found, that Lukas’s family had sold out half of the island’s inhabitants and that he’d likely taken Anelisse with him when he’d fled the island for the mainland.

“Which way do we cast the sails?” Fallon asked, Vaerek standing behind her still, his face unreadable. 

“Rainfelle,” Celeste had barely breathed the word before the Captain was barking orders, her shoulders oddly rigid as she strode toward the ship. 

Fallon turned away from the flurry of activity and regarded Gandriel sharply, “That magic of yours had better work quickly if we want any hope of tracking them down.”  She crossed her arms under her ample chest, gaze hard as she faced Celeste. “If they’re headed for Rainfelle we have even less time to set those people free and find that sister of yours. That place is the capital of the slavers.” 

“Wait, you’re taking us there?” Gandriel asked, his brows quirking as he watched the woman in confusion, “You had a shipment of tea to take to Prythian-”   
   
“Did you really think we were actually taking tea?” Fallon snorted, nearly rolling her eyes, “We’ve been tracking these slave ships for months and word was it that you’d served on the ship that eradicated this little town.”   
   
Hurt flashed across Gandriel’s tawny eyes.

“When we saw you in the Red Maiden we thought you’d taken the girl as another shipment,” Fallon nodded toward a straight-backed Celeste, “but I figured out rather quickly during that pathetic game of poker that you were clueless; you let the information slip with a few sips of wine. Any slaver worth his gold wouldn’t hand over information so easily.”   
   
“So that’s why you helped us,” Celeste breathed watching the dark-haired Captain, “Then what was your shipment to Prythian?”    
   
“Freed slaves,” Fallon glanced over a shoulder at her men, and also her cargo Celeste suddenly realized.  No wonder they hadn’t the slightest clue how to sail.  “We’re taking them to our allies amongst the Seven Courts to keep them out of the traffickers' hands.” 

“But if they’re to escape,” Gandriel interjected, “wouldn’t you be taking them back into harm’s way by helping us?”   
   
“If you don’t mind me saying, sir,” The blond demi-fae Celeste had taught to tie sails, Koda if she remembered correctly, stepped forward.  “I’m willing to risk my life to prevent another, human or fae, from facing the fate that I almost succumbed to.” The entire crew paused, all attention towards Celeste and Gandriel.

“We’re all willing to risk it,” Koda continued.  “We’ve discussed it.”

There was a silent pause as all of the crew members nodded, the subtle scars Celeste had noticed most possessed days before suddenly prominent.   
   
“When do we set sail?” She inquired, locking gazes with Fallon.

The captain shook her now rain-drenched hair out of her eyes and swept up that magnificent hat, plopping it on her soaked ringlets,  “Now.”   
  



	21. Rainefelle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! I apologize for the delay in posting--I've been so busy with my internship that I haven't had time to do any writing! I'm going to make a sincere effort to try and have chapters up once a week by Sunday nights. Here's the link to Anelisse's portrait-
> 
> https://www.deviantart.com/storyteller4271/art/Anelisse-762163240
> 
> Let me know how you guys are enjoying the story! You'll be seeing more of Cenric (the sweet smol bean) and the Inner Circle again soon, and of course more of Gandriel's charismatic "charm".
> 
> Enjoy!

Celeste shivered as she made her way down the soaked path inland towards Rainfelle, her cloak wrapped tightly about her shoulders as she hurried across the sodden ground, thunder rumbling distantly overhead.

It had been mere days since their time on Vanica and the sight of the innocent dead still haunted her, their glossy eyes cast skywards and their scents nearly indiscernible from the stench of rot. They’d departed from the island rapidly after the pyres and few quiet prayers had subsided, the torrential rain that hit the isle shortly after the fires had died killing any remaining embers.

Celeste was fairly certain she knew who had attracted that storm.

She glanced sidelong at Gandriel, his face hidden in the folds of his hood as he kept pace with her, his feet squelching in the mud. He’d been oddly silent since they’d departed Vanica, his eyes shadowed.

Not that she blamed him, she thought as a particularly bright streak of lightning briefly illuminated the path ahead, one’s first exposure to the corruption of men and fae alike could crush even the most resilient of souls.

They’d been on the road inland since before dawn and the watery light was now rapidly dwindling, casting the hollows beneath the dripping trees into deep, misty shadows.  Celeste had refused to stop and camp for the night, despite the rain - she knew every passing second was time they were giving Lukas to get ahead of them. Gandriel had only nodded his agreement.

Fallon had said she’d wait on the coast as long as she could for their return.  _If_ they returned.

The picture the Captain had painted of the slavers was at best gruesome.  The demi-fae had warned against their tricks and that they’d be wise to keep their eyes sharp. She’d offered to accompany them but had been shut down by immediately by Vaerek with one sharp look and a shake of his head.

Too risky, the first mate had claimed, stepping protectively in front of the glowering woman who looked primed to give him a piece of her mind for giving her orders.  They’ll know your face immediately if they see it, Vaerek had chided her, you’ll risk everything we’ve built if you go.

That and that her astonishingly short temper and fat mouth were liable to get them all killed, the stone faced first mate had concluded with, rather bluntly.

Fallon, albeit grudgingly, had conceded.

“We’ll stay and search the area,” she’d replied coolly, eyes flickering between Celeste and Gandriel.  “We’ve been looking for their main harbor for months.  Let’s see if we can flush out any of these vessels they’ve kept so expertly hidden.”

With that, they had stepped onto the beach in the dim early morning light and began their trek towards the tiny town of Rainfelle.

Despite the rain, the muddy trail was still dimpled with hundreds of footprints, some booted and some bare.  The path wound miles inland, away from the sand and scrub of the coast into rolling, deeply forested hills.  Here the trees were clustered tightly, the branches and leaves rustling overhead.

When the downpour of rain that had soaked them within an hour of setting out intermittently slowed, a trickle of thick droplets still splattered down from the canopy, continuously soaking them.  No one desiring to travel comfortably or with any amount of ease would venture this way - an ideal path for moving large masses of people without detection.

A path that clever map had shown them on their journey inland.

Celeste took solace in the presence of the deep footprints that remained mostly intact – the group could not be far ahead.  Transporting that many people, many of whom were unlikely to move quickly on such a journey, would slow them considerably, and with any luck it would be easy for two fae travelers swift of foot to catch up to them quickly.

At least she hoped as much. 

There had been no notable footsteps or scents that had given any indication of Anelisse’s presence with the party and it left Celeste’s nerves frayed, but the map held firm on their course, so she followed without protest.

She just had to move quickly.

Celeste barely registered the scent wafting past her as she made her way over a particularly clay-ridden part of the road, her boots sinking deep into the sludge.  She paused for a moment, wondering if she’d imagined it, that hint of salt and iron woven in amongst the thick smell of rain and sodden earth. 

Blood.

Just the slightest tinge drifted through the air, like a snarl in the tapestry of wet forest. Celeste threw out a hand, stopping Gandriel where he had come up behind her as she sniffed at the air trying to discern the subtle differences that were nearly impossible to pinpoint in such a downpour.  He cocked his head at her, opening his mouth to ask a question, when suddenly the other subtle scent entangled within the bloody stench registered in Celeste’s mind and her eyes flared in recognition.

It was faint, but still discernable: that slight whiff of lavender and vanilla that had clung to Anelisse since they were children. A scent that Celeste knew better than her own.

She motioned Gandriel to the side of the path, where the scent seemed the strongest.  The mud there was smudged oddly, different from the regularly dimpled and puddled surface of the main path where so many had passed through.  Celeste pushed aside a bush and scoured the ground. 

There - barely visible from the torrent of rain, a small set of delicate footprints dug deep in the soil and sodden leaves next to larger, deeper-set tracks. As those the bigger of the two had had to fight to drag the smaller set off the road.

A thrill danced through Celeste’s veins as she pushed past Gandriel and shot off the path, following the trail that was rapidly disappearing under the torrent of heavy rainfall. They couldn’t have been more than a day ahead of them if the tracks were still visible.

Who had dragged Anelisse off the path?  Lukas?  And why?  It was clear she had fought every step, the thick layer of fallen leaves lay strewn in all directions, the small indentions of her booted feet digging deep in the earth beneath them as though she kicked and screamed the entire way. The slight stench of blood dancing in the twilight air seemed to indicate she had literally clawed and likely bit trying to get away.

A shred of dripping and muddied sky-blue cloth hung caught on a branch, soaked by the rain and seeping earth. Celeste stopped only briefly to snatch the piece of fabric, the exact shade that her sister loved so well . . . that same soft scent was stronger here, coated in terror and . . . fury.  Another scent clung to that small bit of cloth as well: wet stone and mud, but blanketed in a thick layer of old cologne . . .  
It had indeed been Lukas who dragged her away. 

A numbness settled in Celeste as the images flooded her mind of what he had likely tried to do to her sister, had tried to force upon her for his own desires of the flesh.

His own selfish desires and will to spite Celeste for what she had refused him years prior.

She heard Gandriel’s sharp intake of breath behind her, the pieces assembling rapidly in his mind.

Dropping the torn fabric Celeste set off down the trail more rapidly now, her heart now bleating in fear of where that tinge of blood was coming from.  If Lukas had laid a hand on Anelisse-

If he had harmed her sister Celeste would burn the world down to destroy him, ripping him limb from limb before destroying herself, because without Anelisse she had—

Nothing.

The cold truth sank into Celeste like the rain soaking her as she wound down the path of scuffed leaves and gouged earth, heading steeply into a ravine now roaring with rainwater.  She paused, straining her eyes for the nearest sign of her sister, then nearly sent herself tumbling when her foot suddenly connected with something solid, half hidden in the leaves and rapidly gathering darkness.

She caught herself on a tree to keep from nosediving, turning to see what she’d tripped on only to be met with a muffled yelp from Gandriel.  “By the Mother . . .”

Glancing down, Celeste drew in a sharp breath when she saw what lay before her, her world freezing and sharpening into a clarity as she knelt to examine the corpse.

The throat was a mutilated mess of flesh, as though whoever had inflicted the wound had done so with fever and vengeance.  Familiar eyes glazed over in death as the mouth hung open in a silent scream.

Lukas.

He lay prone, face now splattered with mud and his hand clasped tight around what appeared to be another piece of that sky-blue dress Anelisse must have been wearing.

A panicked breath escaped Celeste’s mouth as she took in the scene, new scents now entangled with the corpse and the discarded packs.  Fainter, winding tracks led back to the east, towards the trail.  Anelisse’s scent went with them, now accompanied by steel and leather. 

That was fear emanating off Lukas, sheer terror that must have chased him as the life bled from him. It only took Celeste a few moments for the last of the pieces to settle in.

“The slavers they were traveling with must have heard the yelling,” Gandriel offered quietly, staring blankly at the wound on Lukas’s neck, gaping toward the canopy like the maw of some monster.  “So much for business partners.” 

Celeste stood, slipping the scrap of fabric from Lukas’s hand and tucking it into her pack.  “His days were always numbered.  Anelisse is worth far more to them than he ever was.”

“Too bad they got him first.” The male dealt a solid kick to the corpse, a wet squelch sounding as he retracted his foot, some flicker of satisfaction in his tawny eyes, “There were a lot of people who would have liked to give that finishing blow themselves, I bet.  Myself included.”   

Celeste looked towards the fading steps that wound back towards the path.  “They must have taken her to Rainfelle with the others,” she said a bit breathlessly, the blind panic fading as the idea of her sister being sold as a slave came upon her like an anvil.  “We’ve got to get to her now.”

Celeste shot off into the darkness like a shadow, following the trail like a lifeline.  
  
Gandriel gave one last solid kick to Lukas’s prone form before scampering off through the darkness after Celeste.

\---------

The murky lamplights from the inn’s windows filtered through the sheets of rain to illuminate the cracked cobblestone road outside where Celeste and Gandriel stood, watching the old wooden sign creak to and fro in the wind.

Cloudhaven Inn.

It was as slimy and rundown as the sea captain had portrayed it, down to the smell of urine still permeating the air despite the continuous downpour and the sensuous but unconvincing moans of courtesans serving their clientele for the night in the rooms above.

“Well, this seems to be the place,” Gandriel supplied, curling his lip in disgust as he looked up towards the windows from where the rather forced cries of pleasure were echoing. Desires of the flesh were just that to the male, as natural as breathing and as normal, but to have to make such ridiculous sounds while tending to those needs . . . it was preposterous.

Likely as preposterous as the moronic, drooling fools who were taking pleasure in such falsehoods.  It seemed more logical to just sell bread or something more mundane for a livelihood than to have _that_ embarrassment.

He shook his head, refocusing his thoughts on the task at hand before looking towards Celeste.  She’d grown silent in their final leg of the journey to Rainfelle.  As they’d ventured on the path away from Lukas’s corpse they had found various small scraps of that sky-blue fabric, shredded to bits, cast intermittently along the trail like breadcrumbs.

Anelisse had gambled on someone coming after her and the others and had the foresight to leave signs.

It had spurred Celeste into a frenzy, her pace quickening with each small scrap of fabric she came across.

She’d only stopped briefly to pull out the map, to confirm their destination against the trail of frayed cloth, the weight of sister’s capture evident in her eyes.

Gandriel couldn’t say he’d been upset to see that worthless shell of a human male Lukas dead, though he would have liked to have gutted him himself he thought, as his mind flickered to that small soot-covered doll still tucked safety in his pack, but to see Celeste’s worry . . . he was glad they were nearly there.

They just had to make sure they got to Anelisse first, before she was sold off or . . . worse.

“Wait here,” Celeste muttered, pulling her hood up further over her soaked locks and turning her attention towards the boisterous noises sounding from the windows, patrons no doubt taking part in revelry for whatever reason that evening.  Bawdy tunes echoed into the dark night. “Fallon said they’re likely keeping everyone in outbuildings to drive down suspicions, I want to look around and see what I can find.”

“And you want me to just stand here?” Gandriel inquired disbelievingly, quirking his head to the side, “What good is that going to do either of us?”  
  
“Keep an eye out,” she hissed in response, sliding one of the daggers he’d given her in Marchedor loose, its surface reflecting the murky lanternlight. “Make sure no one follows after and see if you can put that fae hearing of yours to use.” Never mind she also had fae hearing—  
  
Celeste glanced briefly towards the inn once more, her brow furrowing in thought, “I doubt they’re sharing this little trade business openly, but someone’s bound to have a loose tongue.”  
  
“And if you get into trouble?” Gandriel retorted, annoyed at being left as a watchdog, hadn’t Fallon warned them to be careful?  To, he didn’t know, stick together?  “How am I supposed to come find you then?” She’d already begun to walk away.

“If you hear screaming,” she called back drily, her voice barely audible over the rain and lingering moans, “you should probably run that way.”  
  
Gandriel snorted, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against a lamppost.

He wasn’t the least bit surprised.

\--------

Celeste wove her way through the alleyways surrounding the seedy inn, carefully marking the points where the tight paths crossed one another and where hollow, crumbling buildings barely stood against the pounding rain.

_Always have an alternative escape route,_ a foggy voice at the back of her mind lectured, one she had long since put to rest.   _Know where you are, the path that got you in, and all of the paths that can get you out._

There had been no tracks, no remaining scents in the heavy downpour of the rain that hadn’t ceased in the remainder of their travel to Rainefelle, only the small scraps of fabric Anelisse had torn from her dress and carefully left behind.

 The remained of the journey had twined through an isolated path with heavily wooded mountains where the weather covered tracks nearly as quickly as they were made . . . an innovative way to move live cargo without getting caught indeed. Too bad her sister was smart enough to plan for that.

A bright pulse of lightning flared overhead as the buildings shuddered with the sound, quaking in their fragile bases.

What had likely once been an array of beautiful brick building and a brimming, rich community, were now nothing more than towering shells of times long past. Times before the Queen of this land had laid waste to her own people in the face of their defiance, Gandriel had told her in the night aboard the _Siren_ days prior.

A Queen whose face and body had withered like a crone’s when exposed to the magical waters of the fabled Cauldron.  She had been gifted immortality by the kingdom of Hybern, but at a cost.

In her rage she’d demolished everything in her path, wiping countless lives off the earth just to quell her fury at what had been stripped from her.

All fae sympathizers had been executed, without fair trial and without mercy.

Many innocents had died in the onslaught.   
  
It had only been when she’d faced down the legendary warrior Jurian and the firebird queen Vassa that her rampage and treachery had been put to an end. They’d faced her forces with a host of human and fae soldiers alike and had effectively seized her throne.

All those who contested for the title had yielded to the might of Vassa and sworn their allegiance to her.

War had finally ceased in the kingdom thereafter and another Queen, young and untried but kind of heart had been selected to replace her.

Peace had reigned in these lands since.

Other kingdoms and territories had not been as lucky.

Celeste knew that the Wall had fallen over a hundred years prior but she had never realized the extent of the damage, the riots and civil uprisings that many of the lands had faced—many humans had wanted to make peace and trade with the fae north of them and just as many wanted to raise forces to drive them back, to keep them from entering their lands.

It had been turmoil and many lives had been lost, despite countless negotiations and peace treaties, despite the efforts many had put forth to quell the unrest.

Many fae had tried to negotiate for peace between the territories—Gandriel’s mother having been an ambassador amongst them representing the reigning houses of Monteserre—but even with those efforts and leaps and bounds of improvement the ties were still strained.

Especially with the disappearance of fae and humans alike due to the slavers.  With the Wall fallen, these scavengers had gained the freedom to move between the fae and human lands, picking off those who were weak, alone, or naïve enough to fall into their clutches.

Celeste wondered just what it would take to bring it to an end.   
  
Turning around a corner and lost in thought, Celeste barely noticed the small shred of that now-familiar blue fabric sticking out of the corner of broken door, barely hanging on its hinges. Stopping in her tracks, she reached out a tentative hand and pulled the piece loose.  Tossing it to the side, she wasted no time in shoving the door open with ease, the other side barricaded with high crates and barrels, something that might have served as a deterrent to one without immortal strength.  Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside the roofless building.

Celeste’s fae eyes adjusted easily to the deeper darkness inside, but she could still discern only a few angular shapes in the room, likely more empty crates.  The building appeared abandoned, the night hiding any potential tracks on the dirty floor.  She took a few tentative steps forward, eyes and ears straining for anything out of the ordinary, when she felt it - the slight shift of wood beneath her feet.

She fell to her knees and began running her hands over the splintered floorboards, prying for any loose bits or seams—

Her fingers came into contact with a cleverly hidden seam, barely discernable. Pulling her knife loose she drove it into the seam and pried the wooden panel upwards. It came loose with a small click and easily lifted, revealing an array of cobwebs and descending steps.

A draft of musty air hit Celeste’s nose, laced with numerous scents, but one immediately stood out -- lavender and vanilla.

Anelisse.


	22. The Tunnels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I missed last weeks update which I apologize profusely for but I wrote an extra long chapter for this weeks update---I hope you like!
> 
> Also! This chapter contains a bit of sensitive material with implied attempted rape—it’s very brief but be aware, trigger warning.

Gandriel refrained from rolling his eyes from the umpteenth time as he listened to the drunk patrons nearest the window throw sloppy compliments to the busty waitress serving them, for the twelfth time since his arrival, bidding she join them in their chambers later.

The lady, wise as she were, declined the offer once again.

The male was glad there seemed to be someone with at least a shred of dignity in this delightful slum. He adjusted his position against pillar of the inn nearest the window but just out of sight, the rain having already numbed his soaked limbs.

The weight of what had happened in Vanica had lightened a bit after seeing Lukas’s dead body, another monster effectively purged from the world and unable to touch the innocent again.

He still wished he’d been have able to be the one to gut him.

Gandriel tried not to let his mind wander to the scrap of blue fabric, clearly ripped from the bust, that had been clasped in the foul male’s hand upon finding his rain swollen corpse. He gritted his teeth as the thought of what the male had tried to force upon Celeste’s sister danced through his mind.

Anyone with such foul intentions deserved their throat slit and he would be happy to take the mantle of doing it to any idiotic soul himself.

Fortunately they’d found Lukas with his pants still securely clasped about his waist, his advances halted by his death before he’d ever gotten that far.

He’d have to remember to thank whatever slaver had taken it upon themselves to spare the young girl from that fate. That was if they didn’t try to kill him first.

He doubted they were very pleased with his and Celeste’s little incident with the Queen’s Dame, assuming any of those sailors had survived the storm.  He probably should have thought it through more.

A loud, gnarly cry of ‘delight’ echoed from the window above followed by a gravelly bark of satisfaction from the male who’d just achieved his completion.

Gandriel nestled down further in his cloak, glowering in annoyance.

What _he’d_ give to have a nice dry, warm bed and a lovely female to keep him company.  Mother knew she wouldn’t have to _fake_ her pleasure.

Especially now that he wasn’t ensnared to that woman . . . thing he’d so foolishly bargained with.

Another thing he hadn’t exactly planned.

He hoped she’d enjoyed the little note he’d left her in his scramble from his apartment, a small farewell to the most foolish bargain he’d ever made.

He shook the thought from his mind, digging his hands into his pockets. There were other more pressing matters at hand that needed to be dealt with other than his discomfort and desires.

He’d been unsuccessful in fishing out any relevant information regarding the whereabouts of the slavers or their cargo, only gaining bits of pieces here and there concerning shipments of spirits and outgoing loads of supplies.

He had, however, been privy to a delightfully detailed and exciting tale of a young scout regarding some discarded wide-mouthed glass bottles and some sleazily detailed novels. Apparently, it had taken three men to rescue the poor fool from his predicament.  Gandriel had nearly lost his composure at the tale.

Glancing around, the male wondered where Celeste had slipped off to and if she’d managed to find anything. It had been nearly an hour since her departure and a feeling of unease was beginning to settle in his gut.

It was the next cat-like screech from the rooms above that set Gandriel into motion, ending off his vigil at the side of the tavern as he made his way after where Celeste had disappeared into the darkness.

Surely there was something more useful he could be doing without having to bear witness to that, and he was willing to risk Celeste’s wrath to flee it.

Shoving his hands into his pockets beneath his cloak, Gandriel turned the corner farthest from the Inn, down the same alley his companion had vanished into, intending to do his own bit of investigating to see what or who he could find.

* * *

 

Celeste wound through the array of underground tunnels, twisting and turning in a labyrinth designed to confuse those who didn’t know the way.

However, with the scent of Anelisse to guide her Celeste navigated the passages with expertise. She turned left, and then right, and then left again. Whoever had designed these tunnels had clearly intended to keep outsiders as just that, out.

She moved quietly, blending easily into the shadows, the darkness a cool, familiar presence at her back as she wound down deep into the earth.  Cobwebs glistened in the faint traces of light from torches placed sporadically throughout the tunnels in spots that would most certainly lead someone astray if they were to follow them.

But Anelisse’s scent curved down a narrow, dark, corridor, the other scents of people trailing off and disappearing down another long, tapered hallway to the left.

The dagger into Celeste’s hand was a comforting weight - while she’d never had the formal training that would have been her salvation in a fight, she remembered enough to know how to down a surprised opponent and get loose.

It wasn’t as much as she would have hoped for, but it would have to do.

No sound emanated from the corridor, only the faint dripping of water trickling down from the upper levels. Celeste immediately tightened her body, especially as Anelisse’s scent grew stronger but only silence reigned, an unsettling combination.

Fallon had warned that the slavers were tricky and that she would be wise to keep her eyes sharp.

It was a trap, she realized as she slowed to a crawl, her body poised to spring as she took on a defensive stance. Such silence could only mean that someone or something was waiting for her approach. Brandishing the dagger, Celeste crossed the last few feet of the tunnel and tucked herself into the shadow beside the archway gaping before her.

Anelisse’s scent was near smothering here, interwoven with the now-familiar crisp scent of blood.

A cascade of terror raced through Celeste as she thought to what they might have done to her sister.  She tightened her grip on the dagger as she eased to the side of the large room and listened.

Only faint trickles of torchlight illuminated the dark room filled with more barrels and boxes.  On the floor two limp figures lay, pools of blood seeping into the packed dirt beneath them.

The scent was full of degrade and age, mortal blood.

But not the scent of Anelisse, the thick liquid pooling around the two prone figures didn’t belong to her.  Upon cautious closer inspection, Celeste saw both had slit throats, similar to way Lukas’s had been cut wide open.

Confusion struck her as she ventured further into the room, noticing the two bodies were indeed both mortal men, clothed in battered but intact iron armor, their swords still safety secured in their scabbards.

A slight rustle of fabric caught her attention, directly to her left. Purely on instinct, she turned rapidly on her heel, pressing the blade in her hand flush against the throat of her assailant. Her breath caught in her throat when she felt the cool metal of a dagger settle against her own throat at the same instant.

“Don’t move.” The voice was high and soft but the dagger at her throat was anything but.  Silver eyes narrowed dangerously at her and pale locks fell about the woman’s head from what had likely been a ridiculous updo, her once-blue dress shredded to bits and stained with dark splotches.    

It took Celeste only a fraction of a moment to realize who was holding the dagger against her throat before she immediately released her grip on her own knife and dropped her arm.

“Anelisse?” she breathed, going still as that dagger pressed against her throat.  She glanced at it - the handle was golden and jeweled and engraved with the Pennington House crest.  Lukas’s dagger.  “You’re alive, you’re in one piece-”

 A choked sound of recognition came out of her sister’s mouth as that cold steel in her eyes melted away to soft silver. She dropped the dagger immediately, a dull thud sounding as it fell to the damp dirt floor.

“. . . Celeste?” she inquired, her whole frame shaking as she watched Celeste reach slowly up to her hood and pull it back, raven braid falling loose and draping over her soaked shoulder.

“It’s just me, Anelisse, it’s okay—"

A solid warmth immediately slammed into her, clinging with a fierceness that made Celeste’s heart twang painfully. She wrapped her arms just as tightly around her sister, relief flooding through her as they held each other. She was fine, Anelisse was fine-

“You’re okay!” Anelisse cried, her arms still tight around Celeste, warm tears trickling out of her eyes and onto Celeste’s shoulder as she held her close, sobs wracking her body. “Oh, by the Mother, thank the stars, I didn’t know how I was going to get to you—a-a-after they bound you and took you.” She gave another sob and dug her fingers into Celeste’s shoulders, as though to confirm she was really there.  “Then Lukas came and I couldn’t get away, I couldn’t come after you-”  
  
“Shhh, it’s all right,” Celeste comforted, her own eyes slick with moisture, her stomach knotting at the thought of Anelisse coming after her, trying to get her.

She pulled back from her sister and glanced her over, noticing just how extensive the bloodstains were on her dress— “Are you hurt?” She immediately reached for the bloodiest part of the dress.  If she was bleeding that severely . . . “Let me see—you need to be tended to--“

Anelisse gripped Celeste’s wrist, stopping her evaluation. “Celeste, I’m fine, this isn’t my blood.” She glanced sidelong at the two prone forms on the ground, as though she just remembered them.  Her cheeks flared red even in the darkness of the room. “. . . I didn’t realize necks bled so violently.”

A tendril of surprise flitted through Celeste as she followed her sister’s gaze toward the dead men, the scene beginning to come to life before her. “You killed them?” Celeste looked towards Anelisse who only nodded her head, her eyes sharp as she stared at the dead slavers.  Celeste’s eyes caught on the gold glint of the discarded dagger on the ground.  “. . . With Lukas’s dagger.”

“They didn’t see me steal it away from him, they didn’t see me tuck it into my dress,” Anelisse murmured, her eyes lost in memory as she looked at the discarded dagger on the ground, the gaudy gold and jewels flickering in the faint torchlight.  “They only took the other one covered in blood away. They brought me down here to wait for auction, apparently some sea captain had his eye on me and I was to be separated from the others.” A rare hiss of annoyance.  “I knew I didn’t have much time, so I just acted.”  
  
“Anelisse,” Celeste fixed her eyes on her face, something like awe racing through her, “we found Lukas’s body on the way inland, with scraps of your dress near him and scattered on the road coming here.” Indeed, her sister’s dress had been torn across the chest, revealing the delicate corset and petticoat beneath.  Hot, fiery rage tore through her.  “Who killed Lukas?”  
  
Those silver eyes fixed on Celeste and without an ounce of remorse Anelisse said, “I did.” Shock shot through Celeste as she thought back on Lukas’s gruesomely split throat, gaping towards the sky.   _A wound that looked like it had been given with vengeance . . ._

The blonde bent over and scooped up the knife swiftly, the object sitting awkwardly in her palm.  “For what he did to Vanica, for what he did me, what he tried to take.” Her voice lowered to a near whisper as she looked at the knife in her hands.  “And for what he tried to do to you all those years ago.”

Anelisse turned towards Celeste, a ferocity in her eyes that Celeste hadn’t known she was capable of.

“I know you hid it,” she shook her head, as though shaking off a daze or trance.  “I know why you did, but I knew, Celeste. Knew why you came home with torn clothes, why Lukas’s neck and shoulder had to be patched for weeks, where those scars came from.” Silver gleamed with torchlight as she met her gaze again.  “You should have finished it then, though I took delight in taking that little piece of vengeance out of his hide myself.”

Celeste was at a loss for words, for the emotions racing through her at the memory of one Lukas Pennington pinning her seventeen-year-old self against a tree, trying to force himself upon her as she thrashed against his bigger body, fear and anger flitting through her.

* * *

 

 _“Be still, love,” Lukas murmured as he dug his hands into Celeste’s thin forearms he had pinned above her head, palms slick with sweat.  “You’ll only make this worse on yourself.”_  
  
_Blind fury and panic raced through her, sharpening her senses as she nearly bleated with the older boy upon her, his free hand groping at her, the other pinning her against the rough oak. His hot mouth slammed into hers as he forced his tongue inside, heated and claiming._

_A numbness traced through her as her limbs froze in place, fear rooting her to the spot. He’d been upon her before she could react, her body frozen in surprise and fear._

_She hadn’t sensed him pursuing her, trotting behind her at a leisurely pace like a predator stalking his prey._

_Lukas had been following her trying to befriend her since her arrival on the island, especially so since she’d taken to gutting fishes at the docks.  He’d taken to spending his afternoons trotting after his father and cooing his affections to a usually blood-covered Celeste._

_She’d blatantly ignored him._

_Adder had made a habit of walking her home in the evenings, shooting wary looks at the older boy as he leered at her day in and day out._

_She’d foolishly declined Adder’s offer to walk her home this evening, her anger snapping at the old man for coddling her, she’d insisted she’d be fine on her own._

_An action she fully regretted._

_She felt his free hand snake up beneath her shirt, grazing over the tender skin on her abdomen, exploring and searching, gliding over her sensitive breasts. Wrong, wrong, wrong._

_He squeezed once and Celeste gasped, horror racing through her._  
  
_His tongue shoved deeper into her mouth as he pressed against her, the length of him hardening against her soft pelvis—he intended to take her here and there was no one to save her, to help her—Anidre and Anelisse were at home._

_She could strike him, shove him off—but at what cost? What would be the punishment for the local hated fae for hurting the almost-prince of the island? She couldn’t risk Anidre, couldn’t risk Anelisse, the fallout--_

_She was helpless, she couldn’t stop this—_

_You’re never helpless, a voice filtered through her mind, grounding her.  Never let yourself be helpless, fight back always-_

_A shot of bright white fury burned through Celeste as Lukas toyed with the belt at her waist, reaching beneath the concealing fabric. She struck before he knew what hit him._  
  
_She headbutted the boy square in the nose, a snarl of fury escaping her lips._

_He grunted in pain but kept his grip, his mouth hooking on hers once more._

_She shoved against the older boy, her arms pushing and flailing as she tried to unpin herself, unhinging his mouth from her own. She was significantly smaller, frailer from being near starvation, but her strength was still superior to his own._

_She dislodged the boy and, with one well-placed slash of her nails, sent him reeling backwards, blood spurting in a torrent from his torn neck and chest._

_Gulping down torrents of oxygen Celeste snarled at the grounded boy, her hands curling menacingly. She’d been hurt once before, unable to protect herself and helpless to her plight, but no more. She’d kill Lukas before he touched her again._  
  
_“Monster,” Lukas hissed, his eyes wide and scent flooded with fear. He scrambled away from her. “You’re a monster, nothing but a monster.” He launched to his feet, shaking as blood pooled down the length of his shirt before he raced off away from her._

_She’d slid down against the oak upon his departure, her arms wrapped about herself. She was hated enough on this island as it were, but she couldn’t let him take that, consequences be damned._

_She’d be lucky if they didn’t hunt her down for what she’d done to him. Lucky if they didn’t go after Anidre and Anelisse-_

* * *

 The memory stopped as quickly as it began.  
  
She settled for saying, “Good.”

“I thought you’d approve,” Anelisse’s grim smile melted away into the soft expression Celeste was so familiar with.  “And to think I really liked this dress, too,” She swished the skirt, its bulk rustling.  “Well, the color at least.”  
  
For the first time in weeks, Celeste felt a genuine laugh escape her lips. The sound caught Anelisse’s attention and she beamed back gleefully.

“Lukas Pennington’s tastes were as awful as his personality.” She shook her head.  “When I’m actually wed I fully intend to be garbed in something much less gaudy and tasteless.”

“I hope the same,” Celeste replied, looking at the hideously puffed gown, tight in the bodice and billowing around Anelisse’s muddy legs.  “Hopefully any man you’ll marry will have infinitely better taste and looks.”

“Night-black hair,” the blonde proclaimed suddenly, tapping her chin in thought. “I’ve had enough of blondes to last me a lifetime.”  
  
They both chuckled softly, a small piece of normalcy falling between the two girls before they paused in silence.

“So now what?” Anelisse asked, looking around her as she shuffled back closer to Celeste’s side, tucking the dagger somewhere into the folds of her shredded skirt.  “Do we just leave? They’ve taken so many people. Many of the folks from Vanica are ones we knew.” She brushed a loose curl back behind her ear.  “People that were kind to us. They have Pennelope and her husband, as well as Layla, James and Marrien.”

Celeste thought to the little girl who she’d saved from the water, the sweet-faced child who had barely escaped the clutches of death to now be thrown into a far worse fate.

She had her answer.  
  
“I’m going to get you to Gandriel,” a quirk of a thin ash-colored brow at the mention of the male, “and have him take you back to the _Siren_. I need to find the others.” Celeste said, thinking back on the diverging scent she’d found in the corridor earlier. “I can’t just leave them here.”  
  
“Excuse me?” Anelisse snapped, her eyes flaring, “You expect me to go with this Gandriel—someone I don’t know -- while you go chasing slavers all willy-nilly alone?  I think not.”  
  
“Anelisse, this isn’t up for discussion.”  Celeste turned to begin her trek back down the tunnel, following her own scent back through the labyrinth. Hopefully Gandriel had kept his post-  
  
“Oh, I do believe it is,” her sister snapped back, stepping quickly in front of Celeste, arms crossed over her chest.  “If you think for one minute I’m going to let you run into this headlong without me after just getting you back—without knowing when or how you got free, by the way,” a pointed look from the delicate girl, “you’re going to be sorely mistaken.”

“I came here to save you,” Celeste retorted, “and you getting out is my main priority. I will figure out a way to get everyone else out, but I will not risk you.”  
  
“And I won’t risk you.” There was finality in her eyes.

So against her better judgement Celeste just sighed before conceding, “At least stay close and try not to make too much noise.”

Anelisse gasped in mock offense, then hissed, loudly, in response, “ _I’m_ not the loud one, need I remind you.”  
\----

The scents of the other slaves were still strong as Celeste and Anelisse trailed them through another array of winding tunnels, these broader and more adequately lit.

“They really weren’t intending to let you go, were they?” Celeste murmured as she followed the much more obvious trail of the other slaves, “Considering the lengths they took to hide you down there.”  
  
“Apparently the Captain has a thing about delicate women.” Anelisse wrinkled her nose as she stepped around a patch of mud, her previously bulky dress now a fraction its size from where she’d shredded those ridiculous skirts, “and since I no longer belong to Lukas, what a prize to be gained!  And they didn’t even have to kill him. A win-win for them.”

Celeste still hadn’t processed that Anelisse had been the one to slit Lukas’s throat, her sweet delicate sister with painters’ hands.  
  
“Remind me to never piss you off again,” she muttered, checking around a corner to ensure it was clear for her and Anelisse to move. “Though on second thought it might be nice to let you loose on Gandriel.”  
  
“This Gandriel,” Anelisse replied glancing around as she followed on near silent feet behind Celeste, “who is he?”

“Let’s just say he’s a . . . comrade,” Celeste wasn’t willing to go so far as the call the idiot male a friend. “He came here with me to help me find you. He’s the one that freed me from the slave ship.” _Not to mention he almost got me killed in a tomb full of wights,_ she thought drily. She could explain the whole story to Anelisse later when everyone was safe.

“Well, he can’t be that bad if he helped you.” Anelisse responded, a hint of gratitude in her voice at the mention of Gandriel’s “rescue.”

“Oh, he can be.” Celeste hoped the idiot male was still where she had left him against the inn, gleaning information from the noisy patrons.  “But he’s served his purpose.”  
  
A small breathy laugh from her sister.  “. . . Is he cute at least?”  
  
Celeste only smirked, refusing to respond.

“Killjoy,” Anelisse pouted.

They fell into silence as they cleared several more tunnels, small trickles of soft conversation beginning to echo down the corridors.

Celeste cleared the corridor before motioning for Anelisse to follow.

The blonde quickly glanced to and fro made to move across the crossway in the corridor when she slammed into a tall male figure who stepped suddenly out of the shadow, her small body colliding with his.

* * *

Gandriel had been wandering these damned tunnels for what felt like hours. 

He had followed Celeste’s scent to an abandoned warehouse and down into the depths of this hellish labyrinth when a small pale bundle of blue slammed straight into him.

He instinctively reached out to catch the figure, a slim lithe female, her silvery hair damp and plastered to her pale neck and face. As she upturned her face she revealed large, pale silver eyes set into a delicate face, ethereally beautiful. So beautiful Gandriel had to blink twice, barely registering the rounded ears poking through her hair.

He couldn’t resist the charming smile that immediately graced his lips. Pretty women were something he _could_ do.

“Well, hello there beautiful,” Gandriel supplied lazily, righting the small woman who had gone stiff in his grasp, no doubt running away from whatever slaver trash was likely pursuing her.  “Don’t be afraid, I’ll protect you.”

That beautiful face twisted in contempt though as she beheld him, recognition flaring as her eyes narrowed and she spat with venom, “You.”

And, quicker than any mortal had the right to move, she kneed him square in the crotch sending blinding pain tearing through him.  He nearly crumpled to the floor as she ripped herself free of his hold and dashed off around him, the remnants of her gaudy gown dragging behind her.

Gandriel turned his attention to the small woman who now stood behind him, brandishing a dagger.

“You’re the bastard who helped take my sister,” the girl hissed, throwing a hand out to protect the woman behind her. Blinking through the pain, Gandriel immediately recognized Celeste, who raised an eyebrow as her violet eyes lit with amusement. “I’ll slit your throat for what you did-”  
  
“Sweet, Anelisse,” Celeste said, stepping around the assailant who Gandriel now registered as the missing sister, “but unnecessary.  Anelisse, Gandriel.” Celeste motioned between the two.  “Gandriel, Anelisse.”  
  
“What is it with you women?” he ground through his teeth, the stars in his vision beginning to fade.  “Couldn’t you settle for punching me in the face?  Or, I don’t know, kicking me _anywhere_ other than down there-”  
  
“You’re with him?” Anelisse hissed at Celeste, her eyes narrowing.  “He’s one of the ones who was on the boat when they took you! I saw him.”  
  
“He’s also the one who got me out,” she replied coolly, looking far too amused at Gandriel’s crumpled form clinging to the wall.  Fine, he deserved it.  “And didn’t I tell you to wait by the Inn?”

“If I had to hear one more fake moan,” Gandriel grumbled, slowly easing away from the wall, “I was going to have to go up there and show them how it was done properly.” Celeste wrinkled her nose in disgust at the comment.  “So I decided I’d come help you on this little scavenger hunt. Though it seems like you found her just fine.”  
  
“No thanks to you,” Anelisse snarled, her silver eyes still wary as she watched him.  
  
He held his hands up in surrender, knowing full well that’d he’d met his match here.

“Well, pull yourself together,” Celeste quipped as she turned her attention behind her, deeper into the tunnels.  “We’ve got slaves to free.”  
  
“Oh good,” Gandriel replied, trying not to look at the tiny blonde still glaring daggers through his skull, his nether region still recoiling in pain, “Things were starting to get boring after all.”


	23. From the Ashes They Rise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! I'm officially back. After a month long bout of dealing with a broken computer charger, traveling for work, getting sucked into the hell of despair known as the KoA release and dealing with the holidays I've finally finished the next update. Hope you like it!

_(Rhysand)_  
  
_“Papa,” Sleepy, star-flecked violet stared up at me, blinking blearily, “when are the lights supposed to come?” She nuzzled her face into my shoulder as her small arms wrapped about my neck.  Her thick lashes fluttered against my chin, sleep beginning to weigh on her._

_“Soon,” I assured Celeste, smiling as I adjusted her small weight in my arms, careful to not pull the blanket wrapped around her loose.  She pulled the soft plum-colored fabric close; Azriel’s birthday present that she already could not bear to be without.  “Should be shortly now, stay awake for just a few more minutes.”_

_She’d lost momentum rather abruptly after her birthday party, the remnants of the overly sugary cake Nuala had oh-so-thoughtfully crafted finally dissipating from her system, leaving a significantly less energetic but now cranky child in its wake._

_I’d have to remember to thank Nuala afterwards._  
  
_“Papa,” she whined again, her nose scrunching in annoyance as the small freckles on her nose wrinkled, her newly earned four-year-old patience flagging rapidly, “I’m not falling asleep, I’m awake.”_

_A small round of chuckles echoed from our family watching and waiting around us, seated on the various cushions and lounges we’d hauled up for the occasion._

_I couldn’t hide my amused grin as I pulled her closer, bouncing her gently as I stood on the veranda watching the dark skies.  “Of course not.  My apologies.”_  
  
_“I’m not tired,” she reaffirmed, pushing away from my shoulder and looking up, squinting her eyes.  “Nuh-uh.”_

 _She cast a glance towards her mother, holding an equally sleepy Cenric against her hip, his face and hands buried in her dress as he swayed a little, barely on his feet._  
  
_“I’m not a baby anymore,” she quipped, rubbing at her eyes fiercely, “Not like Cenric.”_  
  
_“Shut up, Celeste,” her brother muttered sleepily, his forehead pressed into his mother’s side with his eyes closed.  Feyre chuckled as she cradled our son close keeping him upright, her Starfall dress rippling in the faint light, “I’m not tired either, I’m just resting my eyes.”_

 _“You’re falling asleep-” Celeste started, ready to pick a fight, her exhaustion flaring her temper. I opened my mouth to try and placate the argument about to ensue when a slash of light appeared out of the corner of my eye._  
  
_“There!” I pointed a finger, boosting Celeste up higher and tracing the path of the first spirit to appear, “There they are.” For there, trickling in from the horizon like drops of dew, spirits began to crest over the mountains from the darkness, their iridescent bodies shimmering as they sliced across the indigo sky._  
  
_Celeste immediately perked up, violet eyes widening as she caught sight of the second streak of light dancing overhead, her face lighting up in delight._

_“Woah! So pretty!” She clambered up my shoulder, effectively elbowing me rather sharply in the face, to get to a higher vantage point.  “Papa, do you see? Do you see the spirits?”_

_“I do,” I assured her, adjusting her weight once more and kissing her cheek as her eyes fixed on the spirits darting past, even fewer again this year but still present and beautiful as always.  “Nearly as pretty as you are.”_  
  
_“You think so, Papa?” she murmured, the glimmering light of the spirits reflecting in her wide eyes, her attention wholly focused._

 _“Yes.” I smiled up at her, watching her reaction more than the spirits themselves, the way her small round face lit up and her eyebrows lifted in wonder.  “They’re what gave you to me, after all.”_  
  
_A faint twinkle of remembrance flickered in Feyre’s eyes as she glanced at me, a small, subtle smile curving her lips. Remembering the wish I’d made on those blooms my mother had told me story after story about, remembering the small plea I’d sent to the Mother five years ago, for one more small gift._

_That small gift now sat perched in my arms, her small fingers clenching my jacket and pressing close. I glanced down towards my other gift, his face no longer buried in his mother’s hip._

_Cenric had finally directed his attention to skies, watching the spirits fly past, amazement in his cobalt gaze. Feyre pulled him close to her as she too gazed skyward, her eyes alight with the glimmer of the spirits._

_All of them, all of it, a gift._

_“I wanna glow and fly, then I’d really be a fallen star.” Celeste looked up at me, her face full of hope. “You’ll be able to teach me to fly soon, right, Papa?”_

_She flexed those dark wings of hers beneath her blanket, strong and limber for her age and indicative of the talent with flying she’d likely possess. “Soon they’ll be big right? Big enough to fly?”_  
  
_I chuckled, pride swelling in my chest.  “Yes, I’ll be able to teach you very soon,” I smoothed the silky black strands of her hair out of her face. It would only be a matter of months now before she’d be able to effectively hold her own weight while soaring, before she’d be strong enough to take off.  “You’ll be able to fly like those spirits very soon.”_

_“And like you,” she snuggled closer, the faint smell of her favorite vanilla and jasmine soap wafting from her hair, her cheek pressed flat against my own.  “I want to be like you too, Papa.”_

_Something tightened before melting in my chest as I tugged her closer, kissing the feathery wisps of dark hair on her head. Whatever I had done to deserve this, I was beyond words and beyond thankful for it._

_Celeste glanced over my shoulder back to our family spread across the couches, her nose wrinkling in the way that I knew meant trouble._

_“But not Cassian,” She narrowed her eyes at the unsuspecting Illyrian who only gawked as Celeste regarded him with a look that had my lip twitching up in amusement before entirely dismissing him, flipping her hair out of the way and turning her attention back upwards towards the spirits.  “Nobody wants to be like Cassian.”_

_The howling that followed echoed across the glimmering night sky of Velaris._

* * *

 

That memory had been engraved into the deep recesses of my mind, one that I slipped away for moments precisely like this. For moments when my fury was nearly strong enough to break free and dissolve the world to dust.  
  
The edges of the memory curled inwards then faded as I soared high above the mountain tops, wisps of mist floating through the air. The tendrils of spring had barely begun to creep into the impenetrable cold of the Steppes, thawing through its icy core.

The cold hadn’t been entirely dissipated yet though as frozen wind bit into my face as I glided around the Illyrian Peaks, Cassian banking on my right, Nesta tucked securely in his arms, headed straight for the camp where Azriel awaited our arrival.

The shadowsinger had taken off immediately after the infiltration at the House of Wind and headed for the Steppes to see who and what was brewing.  He had conveyed only brief messages since his arrival, with an ever-more-pressing urge that Cassian and I should get there as soon as we were able.

Nesta, with her insufferable temper, had refused to be left behind.  Had refused to not check on the females in her unit.

Something edged came in Azriel’s response about bringing Nesta, that perhaps it would be wise to leave her in Velaris.  It had only fueled her stubborness.

Azriel had refused to divulge any further information until our arrival, something so unlike my brother that it set my senses further on edge. We’d spent the night clearing the houses and unpinning the less-than-welcome sign across the entrance to the Riverside Estate.  Neither Cassian nor I had slept.

Instead, we’d set off at the break of dawn, me winnowing Cassian, Nesta and I to the edge of the peaks a few miles outside the camps.  Feyre and Mor were still with Cenric at the cabin, supposedly nursing the worst hangover of his young life.

The memory of the power that had obliterated Serys had even taken me by surprise - my son’s power already rivalled my own and only grew with each passing day.

The events of the night before pressed in on me, squeezing the vulnerable part that still sent me into fits of furious rage when I thought on it.

The fact that they’d infiltrated House of Wind without my knowledge left me rattled and furious.  They’d gotten past the wards, had walked straight into our home, and had effectively evaded detection from both Azriel and I, a feat in itself.

Only once in the last century had anyone so carefully slipped into Velaris without my knowledge, with devastating consequences.  And now it seemed that same enemy had slipped in once again.   
  
The air around me withered as my power flickered at the memory.  Cassian sent an assessing glance in my direction at the ripple.

We’d cleared the House of Wind quickly, having found little to no evidence of any other intruders. It seemed that only Serys had come, no sneak attacks or traps evident.

It had been the wings pinned to the front of the Riverside Estate that had sent me reeling, severed wings from Serys herself, a cruel, grotesque message that rekindled fires that I had hoped had been permanently extinguished in the last decade.

There had been the occasional murmur of another rebellion rearing its head, but Azriel had always been able to shut it down quickly, quenching the flames before they were ever even more than a spark.  The Steppes had been otherwise quiet, almost peaceful in the last few years as they rebuilt their warrior castes and families began to flourish once again.

Apparently not though, I thought wryly as I banked around the familiar bend, the plume of smoke and distant rustling of movement indicating the Illyrian camps, if this horseshit was rearing its hideous head again.

In the distance I could make out the forms of Azriel and Devlon facing away from one another, nearly a hundred feet apart, even in the light of all that was transpiring.

The bastards had never given my brothers an ounce of the respect they deserved. If they wanted a King so badly maybe I’d purge them all and appoint Cassian.  Mother knew he’d serve his people better than their current lords and Azriel might finally get some decent sleep at night.  
  
I was nearly too eager to oblige the idea.

I landed soundly, sending a shudder through the earth.  Cassian plummeted a bit more forcefully than necessary several feet away from me, his face twisted into a lethal sort of calm as he set Nesta gently on her feet next to him. The warriors of the camp took notice, their brows lifting as they beheld their general, his wings flaring wide in agitation.

I began picking my way towards Azriel who had turned his attention towards me, his eyes flat as he watched my approach.

Delvon sent a narrowed glare and sneer at Cassian before turning his attention back to me, his dark eyes hard.

“I think it’s best you see for yourself.” I nodded for Devlon to lead the way, Azriel, Cassian and Nesta flanking behind me.  
  
As we walked through the array of tents scattered throughout the camp I felt the piercing gaze of many of the females, faces blanched and tight, as we walked past.  Their hands traced symbols to ward off evil as they slipped back behind the flaps of tents.  
  
Whatever had happened could not be good.

“You’ve been warned, Lord,” Devlon growled as he swiftly made his way up a small hill, his wings tucked in tight.  “We’ve never seen something of this scale.”  
  
I sent a brief glance towards Azriel who kept his eyes forward, the shadows around him so dense his features weaved in and out of them as we summitted the hill that overlooked the deeply gouged valley outside of the camp.

We paused as we surmounted the hill, the breath in my lungs escaping as I saw what lay before us. 

All across the valley, strewn like scraps of fabric, were wings.

Hundreds upon hundreds of wings, flung carelessly across the dead winter grass, the red-hued membrane dull and leathery as the elements tore at them. And along the center of each of those wings, a thin line of silver: clipping scars.

Illyrian females.

Dread and disbelief tore through me, so violently that I felt the slightest tug on the bond, checking.  
  
I couldn’t even bring myself to respond as bile rose at the back of my throat.

“What in the actual fuck,” Cassian ground out, lip curling with disgust as he took in the valley of discarded wings, his eyes narrowed.  
  
Nesta remained motionless and silent, her face hard as steel.  
  
“Cults,” Azriel replied, his eyes icy as he too looked over the grotesque display.  “Apparently this is their way of throwing their devotion behind their cause.” The shadowsinger’s pupils were so dilated his eyes were nearly black with fury.  “There was a similar incident when this happened the first time but never on this scale.”

“No shit, Az,” Cassian hissed, instinctively putting himself between the discarded wings and Nesta, earning a hiss of annoyance from the stone-faced female, “This is completely-”  
  
“The females,” I cut in, looking at Devlon, “are they from your camp?”  
  
“No,” The camp lord shook his head, idly scratching at his chin, “all members of my camp were called out this morning, not a single female is missing their wings. I don’t know how they dumped them without one of our warriors picking up on it.”

That type of stealth took a great deal of care and planning.

“The females are spooked.” Devlon continued, rustling his wings behind him, as though assuring himself of their presence, “I’m sure you’ve noticed but they’ve all taken to hiding in their tents, won’t talk to anyone. Only those bitches calling themselves warriors have braved coming out-”  
  
“Watch your mouth,” Nesta snarled, locking her steely gaze with Devlon as her shoulders went rigid, “You don’t speak of my unit that way, ever.”

A familiar ache formed at my right temple as a memory of a similar stand-off from over a century ago came to front of my mind. Azriel remained stonefaced as ever.

Devlon’s wings flared, a tell-tale sign of his temper spiking.  
  
“You should know your place in this situation, witch,” he hissed back, digging his boots into the mud, as a low snarl slipped from Cassian’s lips.  “Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of-”

“Those ‘bitches’ can take any of your warriors any day, so back off.” Nesta’s tone left no room for argument, the already frigid tempers somehow plummeting further as power rippled around us like a kiss of death.

Devlon had the good sense to at least blanch as Cassian positioned himself between the woman and the camp behind her.

To hell with him.

The Lord, wise from his first and last encounter with Nesta, only growled before turning his attention from her in dismissal.  
  
I didn’t miss the hiss in response.

“There’s more this way, High Lord,” Devlon grumbled, stepping around Nesta and leading us down a steep incline, “far more.”

* * *

 

Devlon’s little fit had left Nesta is a sour mood. So sour in fact that Cassian had suggested she go check on her unit before she leveled the camp and the mountain top entirely.

She was still pissed.  
  
Nesta stalked toward the training ring where the female warriors loitered, eyes narrowed and lips curling as they sized up every being walking past the ring.

The women trained on this mountain were deadly and ruthless and only a fool would be so careless to cross one of them. A trait Nesta had found to be bred into their very essence.

The waves of fury rippling off them had the majority of the camp’s occupants keeping a good distance from the ring as they hurried past in the piercing cold.

Whoever had done this had hit the female warriors hard, flaying open a box of worms they would be none too happy to see.

Nesta stepped over the white markings that outlined the training field and headed for the straight-backed female with the long ponytail, her wings wide as she barked orders at the two girls sparring: fledglings who barely knew how to wield a fist, much less a blade.

Nesta watched as the two girls tussled, their forms limp. The shouting female barked again, this time a threat that immediately had the girls straightening their postures, refocusing.

Nesta didn’t fail to notice the tallest girl’s limp wrist or the smaller one’s faltering pose, neither really trying.  
  
A couple laps around the camp would change that.  
  
“Look who finally deigned to join us in the midst of this hog shit,” the female smirked at Nesta as she approached, her stone-grey eyes as sharp as Nesta’s own.  “I thought you’d taken off to go play dresses and parties for Starfall. Guess you got wind of everything.”

The sparring girls immediately froze upon seeing their captain, their eyes widening as they immediately straightened and bowed, deeply, to Nesta.

She didn’t smile as she jerked her head over a shoulder, a sharp dismissal that the girls did not miss. They quickly gathered themselves before fleeing the ring, their lesson cut short for the day.  
  
“Valka,” Nesta ignored the grin the woman flashed at her, her bird like features as sharp as her gaze, as she got straight to the point. “What happened?”

Nesta’s second only cut her another infuriating smirk.

Valka, while young, had taken up the mantle as Nesta’s second when Myrie, her former second, had decided to step down from her position to marry her husband and have children, of her own choosing.  While fierce and invaluable in a fight, Valka had a penchant for violence and taunting that made the more lewd warriors look like children.

She was exactly what the Illyrian females needed, but not something Nesta was in the mood to tolerate at the moment.

“Not entirely sure,” Valka stretched one arm above her head, flaring her wings, tauntingly wider than nearly all of the males in the camp, before cocking her head with a shrug.  “Some nut-bags decided to go slicey slice with their wings and dump them off in the valley in the middle of the night.”

So, she wanted to play that game.  
  
Nesta sent Valka a look that would have made any lesser being flee.   

The female only grinned lazily in response, stretching her other arm above her head.

“And what about the King?” Nesta looked pointedly at Valka who shrugged again, nonchalantly dropping out of her stretch, every movement oozing with arrogance.

“I haven’t seen my brother since he fled the Steppes after the duel.” She reached down and picked up a dented training sword, twirling it lazily, its surface reflecting in the dull winter sun.  “My bet is it’s just some die-hards trying to spook the females.  They’re getting desperate.”

Valka was also the adopted daughter of the widow who had birthed the so-called “King,” a young male with enough power to flatten Ramiel with a mere half a thought and the last amongst seven children who had been born of the late lord who had fallen in the battle against Hybern.

The same male who had challenged Rhysand for his throne nearly fifteen years before. Valka had only been a tiny child at the time and had cowered behind her mothers’ legs as the bloody battle had raged.  
  
Rhysand nearly hadn’t walked away from it.  
  
“Desperate enough to infiltrate Velaris again,” Nesta cut in coldly, immediately snagging Valka’s attention.

The sharp-faced female lifted a brow before tossing the sword aside, the chipped blade landing with a wet squelch in the mud.  
  
“They’re insane to try it,” she shook her head, crossing her arms over her ample chest.  “They’ve already lost this battle once.  Why try again?”  
  
“That’s what I’m asking you.” Nesta locked eyes with her again.  This time Valka did not smile.

“If you’re concerned about my mother you’ll be happy to know she was up at the crack of dawn sobbing her eyes out over what those females did.”  Valka walked away toward the sword rack, her shoulders tight.  “She might have birthed my brother, but she didn’t make him King.”  
  
“She gave him the bloodright.”

“She chose that path as much as we choose to be female upon birth.”  Valka’s eyes narrowed.  “Her husband took her time and time again to try and breed that damned beast form, which, by the way, they never succeeded in.  She’s lost all of her children, let her live in peace.”  
  
“And yet he still challenged Rhysand,” Nesta studied Valka as she began hanging up training swords, searching for any flash of recognition.  “And yet they still stole my niece away in the night and murdered her.”  
  
“You think I don’t know that?” Valka replied, eyes distant as she continued her work.  “Lest you forget it was my mother who held a ceremony mourning the loss of Celeste.”  
  
“Where is he, Valka?” Nesta pressed, ignoring that last comment, “Where is your brother?”

“For the last time, Captain,” she cut back coldly, wings flaring slightly, “I don’t know. I’ve served under you for the last five years, you know my word is good.”  
  
“Your brother’s words were good too when they decided to stab the Night Court in the back all those years ago,” Nesta stepped forward, unwilling to bend, “Don’t think your brothers gave any mercy when it came to trying to destroy my family.”  
  
“Don’t go there,” Valka hissed at Nesta.  “You already killed Enalius during the Rite years ago. That idiocy came from his father, Mother wants nothing to do with any of it.”

Nesta let a sigh slip through her nose and rubbed at her eyes.  
  
“If I knew, Nesta, I’d tell you,” Valka straightened and pinned her with that metallic grey stare, her eyes bright.  “What involvement could we possibly have? The only ones left are Mother and I.  Please, just leave her alone.  She’s lost enough.”  

Something twinged in Nesta’s gut but she finally conceded, turning her attention from her second.  Valka had proven to be the most loyal lieutenant she could have asked for, her relationship to her traitorous brothers was something that she couldn’t be held to. She’d been too small when it happened anyway.

“Keep an eye out, Valka,” Nesta said over a shoulder, her steely eyes assessing the ring around them.  “If you see anything, you talk to me first.”  
  
“Even before your insufferable mate?” Valka cooed.  
  
“Yes.” Nesta began stalking across the ring, the girls who were training on the far edge finally spotting her and bowing as she exited.

Grinning again, Valka bowed once, her dark curtain of hair swinging. “Of course, Captain.”


End file.
